Show Me The Way
by Sommer
Summary: COMPLETE: If you could go to Middle-earth, wouldn't you have a plan? Flynn hasn't quite thought it through! Will the elves lead her into peril before Legolas can take an interest in her welfare? For the much yummier NC-17 version go to lotrfanfiction dot com (or PM me).
1. Prologue

**AUTHOR'S NOTE **

**This story makes an assumption that there is in fact a near-complete Sindarin language documented by Tolkien, and that it is possible to learn it to the extent that you could actually speak a usable, if pidgin, Sindarin to a native speaker. **

**This story is also presented in full version (that is, NC-17) on its very own website along with pictures, maps and more. Please visit the web address listed in my profile.**

**01  
PROLOGUE**

Once upon a time, but more recently than you might think, there was a woman who wanted to leave. Like many people, she felt that burning need to make a change and to be free of something, though she knew not what. She wanted something interesting to happen to her, just for once. Her name was Flynn, and this is how she did it. She escaped the life she knew and found more than just a change of scene in a world created by the world's foremost fantasy writer. There would be trials more difficult and joy much deeper than she had ever known, but as she would discover, you cannot escape yourself – even for a little while.

Flynn wasn't in any kind of trouble; that wasn't it. Nor was it that life and outside pressures had become particularly unbearable in her world, which was admittedly very small. It was, in fact, the lack of these problems – the lack of excitement, the days rolling over, one after another, without anything altogether interesting happening – that made her itch and shudder to escape the life she lived. Flynn's life was like clockwork; she went to work, she kept to herself, she rarely met new people. She idled away at a less-than-fulfilling job because she had few other prospects.

But all this was before Tolkien, when everything changed.

Flynn read books, and lots of them. She worked a brainless position in a second-hand bookstore in a decrepit suburb between the eastern hills and the glittering river of Brisbane city. Having dropped out of school at sixteen and dashed her chances of being accepted into her (admittedly over-ambitious) dream job – medicine – she was at a loss. So lamenting her misspent youth and ill fate, she read anything she could get her hands on that dealt with medicine, nursing, psychology, pharmacy, and alternative therapies: in short, anything remotely associated with health care. And when she had exhausted her employer's supplies on that subject, still infinitely bored with her job, she found fantasy. She fell headlong into the unbelievably detailed, miraculously crafted world created by J.R.R Tolkien.

Despite Tolkien's world being rife with civil unrest, war, and tensions between races, Flynn found herself wishing that she could be a part of it. What a dream it was, to go to Middle-earth, the world of _The Lord of the Rings _, _The Hobbit _, and _The Silmarillion _. It was a place where she could face a new beginning and live a life more simple and free of the pressures she faced as she counted off years in the 21st century with no more prospects than when she had left home as a scrawny and scowling teen. If only it were real, she thought, and she could become a part of it, then there she would find happiness. There, she would make friends who had no connection to the misdemeanours and ill choices of her past.

So Flynn became, unintentionally, a bona fide fanatic. Helped along in her fandom by the boundless possibilities of the internet, Flynn learned everything she could possibly wish to know about Tolkien's writings on Middle-earth, and more besides. She attempted to learn Elvish, she met similarly obsessed folk on message boards and chat rooms, and eventually was directed to the less well-known cliques and websites. Flynn found fandom deeper and more devoted than she could ever have imagined. And she found something altogether intriguing.

There were those, it seemed, who believed that Middle-earth was truly a place, and it existed, or it _had _existed, and it was not too long since lost. Some said that Tolkien's writings were, in fact, a history of our very own earth. Naturally Flynn was intrigued, and longing plagued her mind; if only there were some way to reach into the past, she could go there. She could be further away from here than she had ever been. Untouchable, she could start anew. She could invent a past, one that didn't include the emotionally absent mother, whose grey eyes had not flinched the day Flynn announced at sixteen that she was leaving home. Flynn could meet people who would accept her. She could meet the immortal elves, the loyal hobbits, the brave dwarves and the honourable men of Tolkien's writing – if only there were a way.

Flynn had begun, unwittingly, to truly believe in fantasy.

The casual satellites on the edge of her life whom she sometimes called 'friends' were left behind, regarding her with disdain and she spent late nights poring over books: magick, witchcraft, shamanism. She tracked down the oldest of tomes and venturing into the strangest of places to locate ancient occult works that might show her the secret of time travel (or was it realm-travel?) or anything that might help. She was desperate. More than anything, Flynn wanted to go to Middle-earth: more than she had wanted to meet New Kids on the Block when she was eleven; more than she had wanted siblings to play with when she sat at home on rainy Sundays; more than she had wished she had pretty, straight hair when everyone else did at fifteen; more, even, than she had wanted a warm and vaguely human mother like all the other kids.

Flynn picked over every Tolkien work she owned (an impressive collection thanks to a little light-fingered lifting when the boss was not around – which was often), looking for clues to the real location of this fantasy world. Then one day, whilst hunched over her rickety desk in her shambling apartment, when she had thought, for the hundredth time, that it was hopeless, and she should give up and set her feet firmly back on the ground, she had noticed something. Fluttering to the floor from the back pages of an edition of _The Lord of The Rings _, which looked older than the story itself and which she couldn't remember buying, was a browned and delicate piece of paper.

Flynn unfolded it, noting the strange quality of the paper, soft as if made from ancient vellum. On it was written a short poem in flourishing calligraphy, the once-black ink now a faded greenish grey. The writing was Elvish. With no idea who had put it there, nor why, she touched it and felt her fingers tingle as if the poem were alive at the warmth of her skin. The strangest feeling overcame her, as if being compelled to the poem, and Flynn found herself wanting inexplicably to say it aloud. So she read the first line, slowly, rolling the words over, thinking about their translation as she went. "_Annon o Arda, edro hi ammen _. Gate of Arda... open now for me?" she murmured.

So slowly that she was only aware of it when the scratched wooden tabletop seemed to warp before her very eyes, Flynn became light-headed, the room spinning. Her head dropped down towards the piece of vellum in her hand and she wanted desperately to read the poem in full, but her head was heavy like falling into long-awaited slumber. Her eyes drooped, her neck relaxed, and her head lolled like a child succumbing to sleep. Intense warmth enveloped her, drawing her in... Then her head snapped up. The sudden loud hiss of air brakes and engine rumble of a bus on the street outside snatched her back into the present. Her heart thumped madly. What had just happened? She looked at the poem. The text was darker now, the ink a shimmering black as if freshly written, its glistening sheen seeming to challenge her to deny what she had felt.

Flynn knew then with certainty that it was enchanted – but to what end? She dared whisper the words again. This time, as soon as her lips had closed on the last syllable, there was a rushing in her ears; the heavy dozing sensation returned, and she could not help but close her eyes, feeling she would fall headlong into the poem like a soft quilt, her body weightless. There were noises, noises not from within the room or from outside – whispers, sweeping around her like wind-rustled leaves in a language she couldn't quite interpret but which sounded stirringly familiar. Somehow she knew that they pressed her to continue; she had to read the next lines.

Daring to open her eyes, she saw the poem swimming in her vision, the lines standing out like gnarled black trees on a white desert landscape, willing to be seen, to be read. She began the next line: "_Fennas o ardhon… _" and the voices grew louder in her ears, no longer whispers, but deep murmurs, multi-layered like she were privy to many conversations between many people.

"_Lasto beth lammen,_" she breathed, beginning to understand that the more she read, the closer she brought herself to wherever the voices were coming from. At the last word, the voices suddenly dropped to a barely discernible whisper, the rushing in her ears quietening, and she understood. 'Listen to the word of my tongue,' she had incanted in Elvish. And now, whatever or whoever this poem led to was listening. She opened her mouth to speak the next line.

Then Flynn was startled again, and she snapped to attention, blinking. The voices were gone, and she was back at her desk against the kitchen wall. She glanced around for the source of the disturbance and heard the click and hum of the old refrigerator in the corner as it whirred into action. She cursed it softly, but did not dwell long. An idea was forming. This poem, or whatever it was, was a portal of some kind – it had to be. It was written in Elvish, and Flynn was certain the voices she heard had been speaking Elvish. Her heart caught in her throat as she considered the unbelievable possibility that this could be the very thing that she had been searching for all this time. She folded the poem as it had been, and slipped it back into the book. She steeled her resolve: she would ready herself, she would say goodbye to her life, and then, when she was prepared, she would leave. Forever.

- - - - -

Over the next year, Flynn researched subjects she thought she would need to know if she were to enter Middle-earth. Survival skills and self-defence seemed the most important. For six months, she camped once weekly – first with a tent and then without – in the expanse of forest on the outer-city forest on Mount Coot-tha. She practised using a rambling stick and a hunting knife as weapons. She learned haltingly to catch and kill her own food, though the idea at first sickened her. But when she tracked down one fat possum in the midst of stealing from her cooler bag of fruit, and it looked up at her with adorable orange eyes, she read it as a challenge: will you eat, or will you let your food be eaten? She snapped its neck and stumbled away into the undergrowth to vomit. She cried later as it roasted over the fire, but it was easier to hunt after that.

Flynn practised going days without showering to see how long she could stand it, and she whittled her diet down to simple sustenance for days at a time while she embarked on increasingly longer hikes through the forest. She wanted her body to adjust to the possibility that she might have to live very rough for a while, for she did not know where this strange poem – or portal, or whatever it was – might take her. She read back through her entire library of Tolkien works, trying to memorise everything that might be relevant, from geographical features to family trees, which she might be able to use to construct an identity for herself.

Most importantly, Flynn endeavoured to properly learn to speak Elvish. She read everything there was to know on the subject, and she infiltrated the societies she found online who had done the same; like-minded groups of people who had taught themselves Sindarin Elvish, and who could teach her, too. She knew that if Middle-earth existed, this was the only language she had any hope of conversing in, for Tolkien had not written a complete Westron, the common language of all races. It was a language lost to time. Flynn practised Sindarin day and night and she tested her skills online with those who seemed to know it as fluently as one could, and eventually, to her delight, she was as versed in the language as anyone could be. Finally, she enlarged and photocopied maps and she put together a collection of useful information, for she felt ready. She felt ready to leave. Flynn hoped against hope that the poem was everything it seemed, and that all her efforts had not been in vain. It was time.


	2. Transcendence

**02 – TRANSCENDENCE**

A summer downpour beat against the asphalt, sending steam hot and sticky up into the night. Waterworks Road was for a few hours well named, for the warm rain gushed down the gutters and spilled across the road in a driving hazard of sliding sheets. Dutifully braving the weather, a white and yellow bus groaned into the curb. The thunder of rain near drowned the hiss of its doors swinging open, and a woman stepped awkwardly into the street. The doors slapped shut, the vehicle laboured away into the night, and the woman popped a spotted umbrella to life. Suspending it above her head, she dashed westbound down the street, dodging puddles in the footpath with feet more steady and movements more slick than other women of her age and build. She halted for a brief moment, meditating on the brilliant sparkle of the orange streetlights on the surface of a puddle; there was something magically electric, she thought, about nights like these.

But Flynn did not stop, hurrying the wet journey of three streets to her apartment. She approached the 'follicular enhancement' (men only!) studio next to her home, made a flying side-step from the footpath, and skittered up her front path. Abandoning all grace, Flynn collided with her front door and stopped to regain her breath. Turning the key in the lock she heard its click and pushed the door open. It creaked inconspicuously in a poor effort to welcome her home.

An hour later she was showered and dressed in heavy-duty corduroy pants and hiking boots, peculiar for this retiring time of night. After a meal planned to provide long-lasting energy and protein, she sat at her kitchen table staring fixedly at the doorframe. There sat a rucksack packed with supplies befitting someone embarking on a short camping trip. The only out-of-place addition was a sizeable heap of dried fruit and meat more suited to the scullery of an 18th century sailing ship, and a small, combination-locked safe containing an ancient scrap of paper. One last sort through the bag confirmed to Flynn that she was ready for anything. Or at least, she was ready for anything she could conceive of, and anything outside of her imagination's boundaries was the fault of an un-moderated childhood spent in front of the television.

Flynn took the mini-safe from her bag, unlocked it and removed the poem, which she had rolled inside a plastic pill container. She was afraid that folding it would cause it to crease and tear, though it showed no signs of wear to begin with. Replacing everything in her bag except the poem, she pulled on an all-weather jacket and shouldered the pack, tightening the straps. The poem she clutched in her hand, and she stood in the middle of her kitchen, trembling slightly like the moments before the first time her mates had pushed an ecstasy pill into her hand behind the playing fields' clubhouse and goaded her into swigging it down with 6 cider; the same year she had given up on school altogether. Flynn stared at the vellum, her face hot with adrenaline. This was it.

This time she read the poem aloud, quickly incanting the first two lines. More swiftly than last time came the vaguely familiar roaring like a strong wind in her ears. Faraway voices rose from scattered whispers to a cacophonous crowd. Fighting against the strong anaesthetised feeling and her body's wish to fall into endless sleep, Flynn fought to focus her will on reciting the last two lines. Voice strained, she carefully pronounced the final words. The poem, almost drowned by the maelstrom in her ears, was complete.

_Annon o Arda, edro hi ammen  
Fennas o ardhon, lasto beth lammen  
Aníron sen dôr si gwannad  
Teli si an cefn galad!_

(Gate of Arda, open now for me,  
Doorway to the world, listen to my tongue  
I desire to now leave this place  
I come now to the earthly light!)

Flynn passed out quickly, tumbling like a split sack of potatoes to the parquet floor. Her shoulder hit the kitchen table corner on the way down, but the pain went unnoticed until she returned, after what felt like a lifetime away. In that instant her body remained, but Flynn was gone.

- - - - -

Awakening was black; her mind was heavy. Her body registered pain. Flynn had the strange sensation that her mess of limbs made as much sense as if she had just turned into a talking squid with a hangover. She wondered if that would have been preferable to this. And it occurred to her momentarily how stupidly unprepared she was. She knew nothing at all of time travel, or even if that was what she had done. What if she had ended up with her ears on her knees and a zipper on her forehead? Or no forehead at all? In all her physical preparation and all her research into the world of Tolkien, she hadn't, she realised, quite thought this through.

Flynn cautiously flexed her fingers, checking they were all still present and accounted for. She kept her eyes clenched shut, unwilling to face reality just yet. If it had not worked, if the poem had been something entirely other than what she thought and she was still at home in her kitchen, then there was only bleakness and disappointment to face. And if the poem had been something magical, but not quite what she assumed, then there was the matter of figuring out where or when she had landed. And if... And if the poem had worked properly? If Flynn was in Middle-earth...? She was afraid to have failed; she was even more afraid to have succeeded.

If she did open her eyes she might have realised that she had been flung out of the ether into the branches of a thick tree in a particularly dense forest, and being the Tolkien connoisseur she was, she likely would have guessed that she was in either Fangorn Forest or Mirkwood. The latter would have been the correct guess, but as yet Flynn's main concern was the horrible throbbing head that accompanied the return to consciousness, and the nausea that accompanied the time travel. Groaning a horrible groan as she peeled her eyes open, she struggled to sit up. More pain ensued. A twig or five snapped underneath her and suddenly she was aware of being suspended in a low canopy. Flynn held her breath, eyes darting back and forth across the surroundings. It couldn't have worked. Could it?

But unless she had, in her strange altered state of consciousness, navigated the half hour journey to the closest such forest near her home – on foot no less, and not fully awake – then she was very definitely in Middle-earth. Lips slowly stretching into a disbelieving smile, she sighed and leaned back against the boughs. She contemplated the ground. The forest was a dim, close knit of hoary, ancient trees. Little sunlight pushed through, and the air was heavy and hot. Flynn was accustomed to humidity, but something nevertheless instilled a stifling, suffocated feeling within her and she had a great desire to be out in an open space as soon as possible. Two forests related by murkiness of character stood out in her knowledge of Middle-earth geography, and she wondered: was this Mirkwood or Fangorn? To herself, she whispered, "Where am I?" The forest swallowed her words like thick carpet on a cinema wall, and her voice went unheard.

Deciding that the business of hanging around in a tree asking herself questions she couldn't answer was fruitless, she clambered ungracefully down. With a fortifying breath she straightened her clothes and adjusted the pack on her back. Its weight was reassuring. Flynn had practised the art of survival. She could do this.

She set off, picking her way through the crowded undergrowth. The sun had begun its slow descent from high noon and she could see she was travelling west, though to what end, she could not know. There were dangers of travelling West in any of the forests of Middle-earth: in the major woods, Mirkwood, Lórien and Fangorn, taking a course due west would almost always lead her to mountains or water or both. There was, of course, the issue that she would not know the mountain ranges from each other simply by looking, unless of course the Misty Mountains were in fact constantly cloaked in mist. Pushing down a bubble of inner panic, she told herself she might just have to trust dumb luck.

An hour passed and still there was no indication of running water, no hopeful trickle of life that might grace her ears. Flynn stopped and leaned against a tree. Slipping the pack from her back and unbuckling it, she reassessed the visible contents. A stack of sandwiches wrapped in greased paper and the locked box sat at the top, where they had been when she left her home, concealing an all-in-one paperback copy of _The Lord of the Rings_ – with appendices – wrapped in acid-free paper. On a sudden thought, Flynn withdrew the poem from her pocket gingerly and held it up to her eyes, squinting. The text was gone. Turning it over, and over again, there was nothing to see. Flynn swallowed. There was no way to go back now.

She squashed the bubble of fear in her and replaced the vellum inside the locked box. She dug a hand inside her bag and produced a laminated photocopy of a map and a compass. A quick check of these items indicated that her bearings were correct. There was little to do but press on with the search for something familiar. She stuffed them back inside the pack, wiped at her shiny face with her palm, and continued stomping onward.

Later, she stepped out of the thinning forest and stepped finally out on to soft grass, leaving the trees behind. She scanned the horizons north and south. The forest stretched on in both directions as far as her eye could see, and in front of her, to the west, were bare vales with no hint of civilisation. Far away she fancied she could see mountains, but there was low cloud and she could not tell for sure. With an exhausted sigh, she slumped down against a tree, drawing her knees up and pulling her arms around them. A cool breeze rippled through the leaves above her, and she shivered.

Suddenly from a thicket of bushes to Flynn's right, a muffled snort came, and then a low grunt, and a distinct snuffling sound followed. Flynn cursed softly to herself, her voice snagging on fear. A shudder wracked her bones and sent a wave of ripples across her skin. She slowly rose to her feet, knowing that whatever this creature was, its vocal uttering could not have been that of any of the friendlier species. Licking her dry lips, Flynn locked her gaze upon the general direction of the noise, barely daring to breathe, while the word, 'Orc' flashed across her mind.

The bushes rustled; Flynn's heart seemed to halt. From low in the undergrowth emerged a pair of sharp tusks attached to a fat, squat creature. She recognised the wild boar instantly. It sniffed at the earth, seemingly unaware of her. She loosed a sigh of relief: it was certainly not an Orc, and it was arguably more attractive. But her relief was short-lived. The boar's keen hearing discerned her careless stray breath and its head shot up. Black eyes locked on her. She froze. The boar snorted loudly and something primal flashed in its eyes just then, and suspecting very strongly that this was only the beginning of a worse threat, Flynn took off like a shot.

Frantically she dodged her way between trees, bounding over fallen trunks, and trampling heaps of leaf litter. But to her horror, the boar made hot pursuit. As she dashed away in panic, Flynn stole a glance behind, but this was her undoing. She did not see the large rock rooted firmly in her path, and with a painful whack her leg met it with all the grace of an airborne refrigerator. The rock, made mockery of her speed and sent her flying in the air with terror painted across her face. She landed awkwardly on her stomach, and a loud splash rang out as she crashed into shallow waters.

Spluttering and rolling on to her back, her relief at finally stumbling across a stream was short-lived. The boar rushed nearer, leaping with effortless ease over the rock that had betrayed her. Crying out in choked fear, her hand flew to the hunting knife sheathed at her belt and, squirming in the shallows, she freed it and struggled to pull herself into a battle-ready position – although the best she could do was get up on to one elbow, squashing her bag underneath her. If she was going down at the hands – or hooves – of a wild boar after mere hours in Middle-earth, she would at least do some damage first.

The raging boar took one last flying leap over the rocky bank, making for her belly. Flynn raised her knife and watched in a rapt kind of horror that played in slow motion and froze her body, fate rushing on like a freight train. But the boar's flight was abruptly stemmed. A thin arrow pierced its throat, and a second later, another followed, skewering its side. It fell in a twitching heap on to Flynn.

Stunned for a moment Flynn lay, barely breathing. Repulsed, she pushed the boar away with great effort and rolled on to the bank. Staring in disbelief, a pair of soft-booted feet appeared by her face. She glanced up to see a slender hand extended towards her, and with awe and not a little fear she regarded the face beyond the hand for a moment. It was male, and stern, and unreasonably, unjustly attractive. Then suddenly remembering she had a the blood of a dead animal all over her and her clothes were slowly acting as trawler nets for pond life, she grasped the hand shakily and allowed him to pull her to her feet.

Flynn regarded the man, then the dead boar, and then the man again. She swallowed. For such a long time she had desired to regard a living, breathing Middle-earth inhabitant, and here she found one, and he was certainly a pleasant sight for bewildered eyes. His face was broad and strangely delicate, with deep-set brown eyes and high cheekbones offsetting wide lips. Dark hair fell in shocked curls that struck his shoulders in waves, and he appeared, for a moment, amused at her expression. Raising a long, curious eyebrow at her, the man spoke. But it was a garble that Flynn could not, in her wildest dreams, begin to understand. She stared at him dumbly for a minute, and he cocked his head expectantly. Was this Westron? Was it Rohirric? The man considered her for a moment with curiosity, and then spoke again. This time, to her Sindarin-trained ears, she could mostly understand.

"Reveal your purpose, stranger, by order of East Lórien," he said. At least, that's what Flynn thought he said.

Flynn was startled. How could such abrasive words be carried on such a charming voice? With a moment she found her voice and ventured her first real Sindarin outside a chat room filled with obsessed Tolkien fans. "I mean no harm," Flynn said falteringly, suddenly a bundle of nerves now that she was faced with actually speaking Sindarin to someone who was fluent. This was not going to be easy. She swallowed and continued. "I am – I was, uh… trouble." A pause. "I do not know what I do here. I have no bad purpose," she answered, and then swallowed nervously.

The man's jaw was tense. Had he understood her strong accent? He sized her up cautiously. Intense eyes joined Flynn's and she couldn't help but feel as though they paralysed her, captive.

"You are a wanderer from afar," he said, half stating, half enquiring.

"I... Yes."

The man issued a short breath through his nose that spoke to Flynn of arrogance and suspicion. "Such folk are not often trusted," he said hastily. "Now tell me, what is your name?"

"Flynn," she replied steadily. "My name is Flynn." At least that sentence was easy. The next one would prove rather more essential: "I swear I harm not bring." The man cocked an eyebrow again and Flynn scrabbled again in her brain, cringing. "I swear I bring no harm." She smiled nervously, and when the man said nothing, continued, "I have no weapons. I carry what you see." Casting her eyes down at her wet form, embarrassed, she was sure he would think her some wicked sorceress. There was something altogether unnerving about him; his voice so demanding yet so richly toned, and his intense glare radiating control. Flynn had no desire to inflame him, sensing a strange volatility in his energy. She ventured, "And your name, sir...?"

The man blinked and his eyebrows arose ever so slightly. "Ellos."

Flynn smiled politely as one always does when meeting someone for the first time, though she felt distinctly that she was the only polite one here.

Ellos stared at her for a moment longer. "Where do you intend to go?" he asked.

"I do not know," Flynn admitted. "I lost; I do not know where am I. And quite tired."

"And quite wet, and it grows dark," Ellos added to her pidgin Sindarin, inclining his head to the sun sinking behind the mountains. "Are you quite certain you have no fell purpose?"

Flynn nodded. "Certain. I could not hurt pig," she confirmed with a smile, finding it was far easier to understand this language than actually to pull together the words and structural conventions necessary to use it.

"No? And yet I have never seen a woman wield a knife in the face of an animal the way you did," he commented.

"Honest," Flynn admitted, "I do not know what I thought I would do. I am glad you shoot well." She tried to smile disarmingly; if this man decided she was a threat, she was doomed.

Ellos looked her up and down. Twice. He said, "We are on the north-eastern border of Eryn Lasgalen, and my journey is southward."

"Eryn Lasgalen!" Flynn repeated, unable to keep the excitement from her voice. "We in northern Mirkwood?"

Ellos raised one eyebrow again, ever so slowly. "Yes, that is what it was called, perhaps a hundred winters ago. It is strange that you use the old name, as you are surely even younger than I, and were not alive when it was still the dark wood," he said evenly. "And it is strange, I must say, that you speak the Elvish tongue of the Sindar."

Flynn swallowed, preparing the Sindarin words for the excuse she had formulated in advance. At least these words were well practised. "I studied many texts of the past, for I am a scholar of history," she explained. "Many are written in Sindarin, and so I must learn it."

The pressing gaze of the Man fell upon her hard and she inwardly shivered under its weighty suspicion. Finally, he said, "Very well. Come. You must journey with me, if you wish to meet with my people."

Flynn nodded, "I would like that." She released a tiny sigh of relief, inwardly deciding that this was finally her lucky day. Ellos may not have been the nicest man in all of Middle-earth, but he at least was a welcome sight for weary eyes. Flynn followed as he set off.

- - - - -

Evening descended unhurriedly across the sky in a periwinkle glow, gradually dissolving into the familiar inky black of night. The air was still. Earlier, in the brilliant orange of dusk, the two travellers had picked a path from the fringes of Eryn Lasgalen and begun a steady course along the edge of the forest. The tiny stream's rugged, stony banks sloped sharply down to a thin crevice that narrowed the stream to, at times, a tiny trickle. Flynn was not familiar with this waterway, knowing now that the nearest river of any size was the Anduin, the Great River, some fifty miles to the west. This little trickle, inconsequential enough to be left off maps, ran ahead of the travellers as if to beckon them to follow, and follow they did; Ellos going ever lightly and quickly as a seasoned woodsman, and Flynn attempting an imitation.

Shortly after setting off, she cut into Ellos's quiet calm. She needed to acquaint herself better with this individual who had so effortlessly rescued her from certain fate. Flynn asked in a soft undertone, "Ellos, where go we?"

Without looking at her, Ellos answered, "I make for the area near Dol Guldur, to acquire a horse and secure swifter passage to my home in Gondor."

Ellos's simple sentence opened up a can of worms for Flynn, who upon hearing these familiar place names was ever more curious as to the year in which she had arrived. Knowing that Dol Guldur had gone, through the ages, from being an innocuous place, to a stronghold ruled by Sauron's minions before and during the War of the Ring, to a relatively safe and haphazardly rebuilt elven outpost again, Flynn ventured a subtle question. "Is Dol Guldur not unsafe to venture near?" she asked.

"Not in these times of peace," Ellos replied. "I would expect that, if you have read so many texts, you should know it was re-claimed by Lórien after the War."

"Yes, of course," Flynn affirmed. "I just... I did not know if it was safe _now_."

"It is certainly not the place it once could have been, had evil never come there," he said. "There is an outpost of elves north of it, maintaining East Lórien, though the Lady of that great realm of Lothlórien is now gone."

A picture sketched shakily in Flynn's mind: she had arrived after the War of the Ring, and even after the departure of Galadriel, who had sailed to the safe haven of Valinor in the year 3021, thus marking the end of the Third Age and the beginning of the Fourth. Flynn also knew that Galadriel's lover, Celeborn, had not sailed with her, staying to reconstruct Dol Guldur and the land of East Lórien. Excitement grew in her belly – perhaps she would find herself in the presence of people who had known this famous and powerful Elf? "Ah, of course," she said, chancing her luck by trying to sound casual through the thick accent, "I forget now how many years it has been since the Lady is said to have sailed."

Barely registering breathlessness though he walked swiftly and purposefully, Ellos said, "It is one hundred nineteen and one half years, by my count, if you begin the year from September as most do."

Flynn nodded, pretending he had jogged a memory she already held. She could fairly guess where the characters she loved would be now. Aragorn would have long since been crowned King of Gondor with Arwen as his queen. In fact, if she recalled correctly, he would probably be just coming to the end of his long, bicentenarian life, or perhaps had even recently passed away – and if so, then Arwen would be gone, too. Flynn halted for a moment, struck with the sadness of this. Who would actually still be alive, this late after the Third Age's end?

Flynn knew Legolas had been enchanted with the southern lands and had been granted his father, King Thranduil's permission to bring elves to Ithilien and begin a new settlement. He had even been granted the title Lord of Ithilien while Faramir was Ithilien's Prince. Flynn was sure Legolas had not left Middle-earth for the Undying Lands before around 120 of the Fourth Age, so he would still be alive here, and if so, then Gimli would be present somewhere, too. Frodo would be gone, departed with Galadriel, but the hobbits had remained, though now it would only be their descendants who lived on in the idyll of the Shire.

In fact, anyone not graced with immortality would surely have perished by now: Éowyn; Faramir; Éomer; and all the men of Rohan and Gondor who lived during the War of the Ring. The only canon characters who should still have been alive were the dwarves and the elves, and of the latter, only those who had not passed into the West. She wondered if there would be anyone left she would recognise by name, and whether it was worth coming here at all if she could not meet some of those whom she had read about so many times. She rubbed her face with her hands, frustrated, and continued walking. In a little while she ventured out again and asked, "May I ask how you, too, speak Sindarin, if you are Gondor? Uh, f_rom_ Gondor?"

"Ah yes. The lady of course wishes to know the unimportant details," the Man said, slowing.

Flynn marked his tone: cocky, mysterious, and perhaps invocative of more. Undeterred, she replied, "I am sorry – I do not mean rude, but it interests me. We both speak a language we should not."

Ellos looked sidelong at her. "Some of us better than others. If you must know, it is because there is much elven blood in me – so much so that I am, in fact, half-elven. It is thus my duty to speak the tongue of my ancestors."

Flynn gave him a look of interest but inside her thoughts raced. _Half_-elven? As far as she knew there was a finite number of half-elven individuals in Middle-earth, and so small was the list that she could remember every one of them. Among the company of the half-elves there was no 'Ellos', who looked like a Man – albeit a gorgeous, model-like Man – and spoke like an Elf. She glanced at his face trying to gauge his thoughts, but he remained expressionless, concentrating on the path trodden by his nimble feet. For a moment she was afraid, for this man was either not who he said, or she knew less about the events after the war than she thought.

Flynn took a pause to evaluate his form. He could be dangerous if he chose to be. He was tall and well sculpted, as she expected most of the men to be, and his chest and shoulders, though not overly broad, showed an unassuming strength. He wore dark breeches and a long, brown tunic underneath a dark leather jerkin. On his forearms he wore the vambraces – wrist bracers – of the archers. A leather belt at his waist held the ensemble together, and provided somewhere for him to hang a small pouch. A long grey cloak was fastened about his neck. It spread at the back with a large hood that allowed his bow and quiver, attached to a leather harness across his chest, to protrude enough that he could access them quickly.

Flynn licked her dry lips nervously and decided that, whoever Ellos was, she was going to have to trust him a little, at least until they reached this elven outpost or they came across others on their way. She asked, "How quickly do we reach Dol Guldur?"

Ellos stopped then and tilted his head up slightly, seeming to scan the horizon, before looking back in the direction they had come as he shielded his eyes from the sinking sun. "It is five days day since I left the Old Forest Road and turned south. There are many miles between us and Dol Guldur. If we keep a good pace, it will be ten days before we reach the outpost."

Ten days seemed like a very long time in the company of this haughty supposed half-Elf whose politeness left something to be desired. But without him Flynn knew she did not stand much chance of survival after her food stores ran out and she grew too weary to hunt. She only hoped he was as gallant and trustworthy as she had always thought the men and elves of Middle-earth to be. When he moved off, she followed him, gripping the straps of her pack and remembering well the knife at her belt.

It grew dark slowly and Flynn thought that it must be springtime, given the length of the day and Ellos's estimation of the half-year since September. Often times as they walked her unskilled feet caused her to stumble and trip now in the dark, but always, somehow easily, Ellos's hand shot out to steady her arm precisely in the right moment, his dark eyes marking her for a brief moment before returning to their path. When the sky had been black for some hours and Flynn's stomach growled for dinner, Ellos halted abruptly and glanced around. They stood by the edge of the forest and he listened for danger and watched for movement. A moment passed and, satisfied, he turned to Flynn. "Stay here," he commanded softly. "I will collect kindling. It is high time to eat and perhaps take some rest. You must be quite hungry."

Flynn nodded and acquainted herself with the ground. Ellos had not yet moved to leave. The nearly full moon illuminated the stark angles of his face as he stood above her, regarding her weary form. He squatted quietly before her and said, "Do not worry. I will be close by, and quick." Flynn only nodded as Ellos stood again and quietly moved into the trees.

Flynn did not hear him return, and was startled when his feet appeared beside her. He set about arranging a fire and soon it was kindled, and from his pouch he produced a bread-like food and offered to her a wafer. Accepting, she wondered if it was the intriguing elven way bread, lembas. She took a tentative bite, and was taken by the exquisite taste; sweet, with a nutty warmth that pleased the palate. Ellos smiled as she took her first bite, and he went to the stream to fill a flask, and they shared its cool liquid. Suddenly Flynn remembered the food she had packed and, as if to prove she was not some wicked sorceress from afar, she offered Ellos a sandwich. He poked at it quizzically, lifting the bread and sniffing and studying the contents before eventually deciding that it was, in fact, food, and accepting it.

They faced the dark contours of the Vales of Anduin stretching out before them and dined in silence. Flynn could almost feel the body beside her though they did not touch. She shivered lightly, wearing fewer clothes than he, and leaned against her pack. Ellos collected his cloak from the ground and offered it to her. She gratefully accepted with a smile and lay on the ground by the fire, exhaustion taking its toll.

Ellos smiled at her. "Sleep, Flynn, if you can, and I will take watch this night," he said in a low register. She tilted her head in his direction, stifling a yawn before meeting his eyes. She bid him goodnight, but sleep did not come quickly. Flynn lay awake for what felt like hours, unsure of this mysterious stranger and unwilling to trust him enough that she could sleep. Her head buzzed with the strange reality of being in Middle-earth, but was this really a Man of Gondor – or half-Elf of Gondor – she had fallen in with, and was he even on the 'good side'? She could not yet know, and he made neither move nor sound as she lay with eyes closed and ears open, and eventually the silence beckoned to her, and she could not fight the will of slumber.


	3. Flame

**03 – FLAME**

They breakfasted by the dying fire on Ellos's supplies, and with haste he gathered up his few belongings and made ready to leave. "Come," he said. "Today's travels may be long." He paused for a moment to wait for her to gather herself. "But if you tire, I suppose that we shall rest."

Flynn cocked an eyebrow at his tone, "I tire not easily. Lead the way." Though she was annoyed at his arrogance, she was even more annoyed that she found it intriguing. He was the archetypal mysterious stranger: tall, dark and handsome. She never thought she would fall for clichés – her life had, after all, been full of unexpected turns so far – but there she was, watching him walk away, unwelcome thoughts scuttling across her mind as she studied the shapes of his legs. She stared after him for a moment, then shook herself when he wasn't looking, and followed.

On that first morning, they set off briskly, continuing in their southward direction with the forest's edge on their left. Again Ellos offered precious small conversation, making only the slightest attempt to break the silence when carefully instructing her over unstable terrain; and of this, there was little. When dusk graced the land again, the morning's slate-coloured cloud mass had already relented and broken up absently across the sky. To the west the sun cast a thick halo of pearl-pink rays out in all directions from behind a fat and fluffed cloud, and persuaded it from its dour grey to a surreal gold blushing into pink and purple. It was Flynn who stopped in her tracks to admire its majesty, hands on her hips, open-mouthed with awe.

"_That_ is beautiful," she commented as Ellos halted. She wiped at her forehead and swung her pack around, tugging at the camping flask attached to the side. Taking a swig of water, she admired the dynamic beauty of the sunset over what she now knew were the Misty Mountains.

"It changes from day to day," Ellos said. "Only sometimes do I watch."

"I always would watch the sunset if it were this beautiful where I am from," replied Flynn. She smiled at Ellos. "You live in a beautiful world."

His brow furrowed slightly. "You also live in this world."

Flynn glanced away quickly and shoved her water flask back in her pack. Of course. As far as she intended for anyone to be aware – if she could help it – she was simply from a foreign part of the vast land; a part that no one could possibly have ever heard of. This, she reasoned, would act as a suitable blanket explanation for any bewilderment or lack of comprehension she held for anything that natives of Middle-earth would deem commonplace. It would also mask any peculiar behaviour of her own that was foreign to them. Hybrid human/elves, and cripplingly brilliant sunsets, for example, would take some getting used to.

She coughed. "I know. I am from the same world, yes. But we do not have mountains so big; the sunsets are very… different." His face was blank. She added, "In my home, _everything_ is different."

Ellos turned and surveyed their surroundings with his keen eyes. "We will rest now. Soon it will be too dark for you to continue."

Flynn nodded, noting his emphasis on the fact that only she had trouble seeing in the dark. She followed as he strayed from the water and led her a little way into the trees. Finally he seemed satisfied that they would be suitably hidden, and there they settled.

After dinner the half-Elf did not seem concerned by the necessity to rest. Flynn took the opportunity to question him about the people and nature of the forests that once were called Mirkwood, saying she had never been there nor learned much about it in her texts. His candour displayed that he was more than content to fill her in, describing the beautifully dark, rich woods and the fierce loyalty of the Wood-Elves to their kingdom and each other.

He praised their warm hospitality, and recounted stories of others' perilous encounters with the giant spiders of then Southern Mirkwood. These northern lands seemed fond to his heart, for he praised them with a smile, telling his stories with warmth in his gestures. They conversed quietly like this for a long while, until Flynn could feel her muscles twitching with exhaustion and her eyes becoming heavier in their movement. When she yawned, Ellos interrupted his tale and slightly cocked his head to one side.

"Are you tired?" he asked quietly.

"A little," she admitted before another yawn escaped.

Ellos smiled. "You must sleep, then," he said. "Our journey is the same tomorrow."

Flynn took his advice and settled down under the cloak, this time drifting off quickly.

- - - - -

In the morning, as they prepared to leave, Ellos said, "One must be careful when drawing closer to this middle part of Mirkwood. There are Beornings and Woodsmen, and they are not always our friends." Flynn nodded her understanding and said nothing, having already thought upon this, knowing that in the times of peace after the war, the centre third of Mirkwood and the Vales of Anduin were left free for these men. A tiny prickle of fear ran up the back of her neck as she imagined encountering the Beornings, great hulks of men able to take the shape of bears, and she fingered her knife subconsciously. She hoped that, if they stayed close to the wood's edge and away from the vales, they would be able to steer clear of these strange humans.

The day was much the same as the preceding few. By nightfall Flynn could proudly claim that she had to some degree extracted Ellos from the shell within which he mostly dwelt. He even appeared almost glad of her company eventually. His demeanour was more relaxed as they day wore on, a dry sense of humour emerging from the stoic exterior. As they drew close to the strongholds of the Woodsmen, Ellos risked only a small fire, and told Flynn as much. He used the intense blackness of the dark moon to look upon the stars. They were spread out as clear pinpoints of light in a messily orchestrated band across the sky. He pointed out the constellations which appealed to his eye, and Flynn did not tell him that she had already observed the constellations on the very first night, trying to figure out which star was which. Nevertheless she was amused to learn that these bright formations tickled his fancy. Ellos smiled when he talked of personal delights. She did not fail to notice the rare but special glint that sometimes passed across his eyes, or the way his normally pursed lips flexed as he spoke of that which brought him joy.

As the fire died, though it had never been very alive to begin with, Flynn poked at it with a stick and chewed a sweet blade of grass absently, and Ellos looked over at her and said, "You still have not told me from whence you come, my lady."

Flynn halted and met his dark eyes, flashing orange and umber with the flickering fire, and responded, "Nor have you told me the same. Gondor is a vast land."

Ellos smirked and nodded in amused agreement. "Very well," he said. "I hail from Dol Amroth, and it is to that place which I now I return."

Something in his hailing from that Gondorian city tweaked Flynn's mind but she could not place why. Ellos's gaze moved away from her and she studied his face for a moment, rich brown curls falling over his ears, the tops of which she had yet to set eyes upon to confirm if he was indeed as much Elf as he was Man. There was a sheen of sweat on his skin from the close heat of the fire in the still night, and Flynn wondered if all men of Gondor were so gifted of face. She had always had an image in her head of them being ruddy and rogue-ish, with five days' stubble and messy hair, but this Man/Elf – whatever he was – was delicate in countenance and always presented in charming disarray that seemed just slightly forced, as though he had to work hard not to look too pretty. "What brought you far north?" she asked, holding off having to answer his earlier question while she formulated her reply.

Ellos sighed lightly, a hint of frustration creeping in, and said, "I dwell in the north, in the Woodland Realm of King Thranduil. I go to Dol Amroth only because my father has called me to return. I do not do so willingly."

"You cannot –" here she searched for the right word, stumbling for it in the disarray of her mind – "You cannot disobey your father?"

Ellos shifted uncomfortably and did not answer for a moment, then glanced sidelong at Flynn and said, "I wish to speak no more of my family."

Flynn could not stop affront from passing briefly over her face at his sudden short tone. She blinked and looked away, staring over the darkling vales.

"But you have not answered my question," Ellos added. "How did you come to be lost in Eryn Lasgalen?"

Flynn took a deep breath, steeling herself to roll out the lies, and answered, "I sailed here from a land far away, beyond the lands you would know. I sailed from north and had passage – no, that word is not right. I _made_ passage – as far south as I could. Down the forest river until Esgaroth I reached, on the Long Lake." Flynn halted a moment, unsure of her translation. Ellos's expectant stare indicated that he followed despite her grammar, so she continued; "There I lived among the men of that town for a while. But I grew restless, and tried to –" Flynn stopped, for Ellos's left brow had just made a rapid ascent.

"You grew... feathers?"

Flynn stared at him for a second, utterly confused. "Feathers?" Then realisation dawned. "Oh! Feathers! Did I say feathers?" she exclaimed, laughter in her voice, for the word for 'feathers' was far too akin to the word for 'restless' for her too notice she had used the wrong one.

Ellos was nodding, grinning. "I thought your Sindarin would fail you sometime, but to think of you growing feathers…" he said, chuckling.

Flynn laughed. "You must help me with this language, Ellos!"

Ellos grinned. "I will not if it means you will say such amusing things."

Flynn swatted at him, chagrined. "Shall I continue?" she smiled.

Still laughing: "Yes, do!"

Flynn cleared her throat. "I grew feathers, _and then_ I grew restless to explore Middle-earth. I had studied it, so I should explore it, I thought. I bought a good hunting dog to help guide me." Here Flynn chose her words carefully, delving further into outright lie. "The dog is gone; we passed the Enchanted River some weeks ago. I do not know what you say for what happens in that river." Ellos was nodding; he understood. The fictional dog was in a deep sleep, likely never to wake.

Flynn continued, "On its banks I left the dog sleep, and –"

"Sleeping," Ellos corrected. "See, I am helping already."

Flynn smiled. "Sleeping. And I searched for the Woodland Realm so I could begin my journey again, with elves' help. But you can see that I did not find it, for I lost my – what is it called when you know where is north, south, east and west?"

"Bearings?"

"Yes! I lost bearings greatly in the dark forest."

Ellos watched her. Flynn hoped that he would believe such a story. "Indeed," he said. "You are a long way now from Thranduil's Halls in the Woodland Realm – so far that it is not worth turning back, if you do wish to explore. I cannot help you go back there, for I must stay my journey south."

"But you will show me the way to the elves near Dol Guldur?"

"Yes."

"Thank you for your help, Ellos," Flynn said softly, knowing that, though she made out she was an apt traveller, she would be lost and probably dead by now without him.

"It is no matter," he said. "Besides, it is not safe for one such as you to wander alone without even a dog."

"One such as me?" she repeated, wondering what he was getting at.

"A fair and comely lady with naught but a hunting knife that I can see, should not travel alone."

Flynn grinned. "Are you calling me fair and comely?"

Ellos looked at her, shrugged, and replied, "Yes."

Flynn stopped laughing then and held his gaze, which did not falter, seeming to challenge her to shy away from him. The moment lingered. An animal cry rang out long and woeful in the night air, and they tore their eyes from each other and Ellos stood quickly, staring out keenly across the vales. Flynn scrambled to stand, her hand at her knife, but Ellos relaxed visibly and said, "A Beorning's cry, far away. There is no reason to fear them. Yet."

Flynn stared at Ellos incredulously. "Yet? Are we followed?"

Ellos looked from the vales to Flynn. "I think not, but it is wise to keep distance between us and them."

Flynn's brows drew together anxiously. "I hope you have right," she said.

Ellos sat back down on the grass and said, "_Are_ right, not _have_ right." Then he changed the subject. "You should sleep while the fire still burns."

Flynn sat slowly, warily, and realised that she was, now that he mentioned it, exhausted again. She unrolled the bedroll fastened to her pack and lay upon it, and Ellos soon stood and lay his cloak over her, saying, as he always did, that his elven blood did not feel the cold so much. She fell into dreams plagued by bear-men and Woodsmen chasing her through the forest with torches and weapons, and for a long while her sleep was fitful.

- - - - -

Ellos sat motionless by the fire for a long while after Flynn's long breaths indicated that she slumbered. He studied her face, its neutral expression suggesting her consciousness had slipped somewhere very far away, her body unhurriedly awaiting its return. While the moonlight lightly washed her skin in a white-blue glow, orange light from the fire lost itself in the texture of her wavy hair, turning it the colour of a pink and gold sunset. In a restful state she looked so peaceful and so absent – a far cry from her almost prying alertness in waking. She stirred momentarily in her sleep, sighing deeply. Its sound and weight threatened to disturb something within Ellos that he had been quelling. And she lay there so subdued, so close, so pink-cheeked and warm. But wariness gripped him always with strange folk claiming to be from afar, and his more base desires were, reason dictated, better left ignored.

The fire crackled. Ellos sat a long while watching the Woman, trying to quell this desire struggling to be free. Dared he move closer, touch her? She was asleep, so would surely wake up, and how would she react? His eyes rested on the knife at her side. Was she dangerous? Under a watchful moon he leaned slowly over the Woman's sleeping figure and extended a hand for her face. He moved the hand over feminine contours without connecting with her, though the force conjured between them was magnetic. His keen senses perceived the heat from her face filling the charged space between skin and palm. Suddenly she sucked in a deep breath, releasing it in a quiet cry. Ellos snapped his hand back and he hastily shifted away. Her brows knitted. Her eyes opened, revealing some absence of recognition for her surroundings. Intensity and fear flared in her eyes as they flicked around, and, landing on him, flushed with the relief of familiarity.

"Were you touching me?" she slowly asked, her tone mildly accusative, reading his eyes for an answer.

"No," was his reply. "I did not touch you." It was a physical truth, at the least. "I was securing the cloak, it was falling off you," he lied.

A heavy moment passed. Their gaze held. He wanted to explore this, to see if she would shy from his touch or succumb to it like so many others had. Tension crackled in the air, and his very fibres cried out for him to move to her, his muscles tensing, ready to make a move, and then –

Suddenly a loud crack and a whoosh rang out and his head shot around. A small nearby log had caught fire and burned, rolling away towards the forest. Ellos was on his feet. Flynn sat up quickly as he kicked at it, edging the log away from the trees, into the fire. He furiously stamped out the grass that was caught alight, stemming the littering of stray sparks. When the offending fire was contained, and the surrounding terrain seemed little worse for wear, Ellos looked at Flynn, suddenly embarrassed; he had been less than superbly composed. "The last thing anybody needs is to burn down the forest," he remarked with chagrin. "I am sorry if I startled you."

"It is no matter," she responded, eyeing him cautiously.

"You should try to sleep again while the dark remains," he suggested.

"And you?"

"I have little need for sleep. It is not the way of the elves."

Flynn slowly nodded. She settled down under the elven cloak once again, rolling her back to Ellos. He sensed that she did not sleep, though, and so taking his opportunity where he could, he leaned against a tree and allowed himself to doze off, for he would not have his chance with her this night. But it was no matter; his time would come.


	4. Hostile

**04 – HOSTILE**

Over two days of steady walking, the two travellers did not discuss the night when Flynn could have sworn that, just before she woke from her troubled dreams, Ellos had been overly close to her. But the strangest thing was that despite that night's vague memory, her suspicion of this half-Elf had all but dissipated. It was difficult to stay wary of someone who hunted food for her every day, lead her safely through treacherous countryside, and took very little sleep in order to keep her safe at night. Flynn was developing an odd kind of affection for him, and try as she might she could not resist it. There was innocence in the way Ellos ran his hand through his rich brown hair as he surveyed the horizon, and a noble dignity to his gait that made Flynn flutter a little inside.

On the morning that marked one week of travel together, Flynn woke to find Ellos standing away from their camp and glancing to and fro. His back was to her and there was nervous impatience about the way he gripped his bow and drummed his fingertips against his hip. She rose quickly and packed her things, feeling more with each day that she would lie, steal and beg for a hot shower. The stream had long since dwindled into a meagre trickle only good for filling their water flasks and she could not even hope for a quick dip in the water. Shouldering her pack, she approached Ellos and asked, "Is something the matter?"

Ellos did not turn to look at her, only tilted his head towards her a little, and answered, "We are too close to the country of the Beornings."

"Are they dangerous?" Flynn asked, unsettled by his tenseness.

"If you are not a Beorning yourself, yes. They would not think twice about being rid of me simply for being elven kind, and it does not matter that you are of the race of Men, Flynn, for they will uncover you as a foreigner anyway. They are to be avoided."

Flynn pursed her lips, hot fear prickling over her skin. "How do we avoid them?"

Ellos's dark brows drew together into a heavy frown and he cast his gaze east to the forest. "We cannot linger here. We must enter the woods," he answered.

"Why do I feel as if no choice is safe?" Flynn asked.

Ellos was already moving off towards the shelter of the trees, and he called back to her, "Because that is true."

Checking her knife was secure at her side, she trotted hesitantly after him. They moved within the forest but kept to its edge, keeping sight of the vales in the west whilst staying hidden in the dark cover. Flynn followed Ellos closely, stepping in his footprints, steadying herself on the same branches, stopping to sniff the air and peer watchfully around when he did, standing close to him and smelling the leather of his tunic mixing with the scent of sweat and leaves and the faintest hint of musk. She drew a deep breath of him without thinking, and he stared at her pointedly, high interest upon his face, and she felt a blush rise in her cheeks and moved off as though it were imperative that they not linger.

In a moment Flynn felt Ellos grab her arm, his fingers pressed tightly to her skin, and she whipped around to admonish him, but stopped short, seeing his other index finger held to his lips, bidding her to be silent. He crouched quickly, pulling Flynn ungracefully with him, and she watched him with annoyance as he glanced around quickly. His hard stare locked on to something beyond the trees, on the edge of the forest, and Flynn followed his gaze. There, just metres from the thinning trees, were two huge beasts of men, prowling slowly northwards, their gait wary and alert. Unthinking, Flynn drew a sharp breath as if to squeal in shock, but suddenly a hand clapped over her mouth, flooding her with the scent of skin foreign and unlike her own, and a pair of deep brown eyes pierced hers. Very, very quietly, Ellos said, "Do not make a sound." Flynn nodded slowly and he removed his hand.

The two travellers watched as the huge men, who Flynn assumed were Beornings, slowed to a stop and scuffed at the ground, peering about them, inspecting this place for its suitability as a safe corner for an afternoon rest. Flynn's stomach sank into her feet as they made their decision, plopping down to the ground and leaning against the outlying trees. Flynn could hear her heartbeat in her skull and her legs ached, frozen in her awkward crouch, waiting for what felt like an age – and for what, she did not know. It was difficult to tell if the Beornings were merely lying down or if they had drifted into dozing, but Ellos's hearing seemed keener than hers, and after a long while he turned to her and jerked his head in the direction of the darkness of the forest. Flynn understood his directive and, though she mistrusted the deep woods and her wide eyes betrayed her fear, she nodded.

Ellos very slowly stood and offered his hand to Flynn, who took it, allowing him to help her stand, noting the strange softness of his palm, uncharacteristic of a weathered traveller. She wondered for a moment, as their eyes met, if he was indeed as full of Elf blood as he said. He certainly had not managed to crop a five o'clock shadow in the time they had spent together, though she remained unconvinced he couldn't have shaved by the stream while she slept the sleep of an exhausted traveller. But there was also something strange about the way he naturally deflected dirt and grime while she grew only filthier and more second-hand. Blinking, she rubbed her legs firmly, willing the blood to flow, and Ellos crept slowly further into the woods, motioning for her to follow.

It was impossible for Flynn to move as quietly as Ellos did, every footstep disturbing the leaf litter. The forest air was close and hot when Ellos halted ahead of her and turned to check her progress. "Are you well, my lady?" he asked as Flynn approached slowly, pushing twigs and leaves out of her way.

"I would be better if I were not so... afraid," she answered, agitation in her tone. She failed to notice the strange mark of politeness upon his voice. If she had, she would have felt that ominous tingle of suspicion creep up the back of her neck, for this was not like Ellos at all.

The half-Elf's face softened into sympathy. "Be not afraid," he said softly, "For it is safer in here, and you have me to protect you."

Flynn laughed silently through her nose. "Do you think I am helpless?"

One of Ellos's eyebrows crept doubtfully up on his face. "You have but a knife and a hope; I have a quiver of arrows and a good eye," he said.

Flynn raised her brows at him. "We will see your skill if we meet danger," was her challenging response, and Ellos stared at her for a moment with dark eyes endless and unreadable. Then he turned quickly and moved off.

Flynn followed awkwardly, and soon the stifling heat within the wood affected her energy, and exhaustion began to creep over her, and she kept her head down as she picked her difficult path through the undergrowth, not noticing Ellos advancing farther and farther ahead. After some time when she sensed the light dimming, the afternoon fading into evening, she stopped and looked up and ahead, scouting out for him. But he was nowhere to be seen. His footsteps were ever light and she could not hear him, and in the dim she could see nothing but the unmoving woods. Fear tightened around her chest as her eyes darted frantically to and fro. Where could he be? Was she even moving in the right direction?

"Ellos?" she called softly, her voice breaking. There was no reply and not a sound in the forest. Louder, she cried, "Ellos!" and grimaced as her voice rang through the trees and was soaked up by the textures all around. She waited for the sound of his voice to cut the silence, but it did not come. Flynn stood frozen to the spot, her veins turning to ice while her head raced with thoughts of wandering lost, alone and unprotected in this dangerous region of the biggest forest in Middle-earth, where the trees were so close she could hardly see the sun to guide her. The silence in the wood grew too heavy to bear, and something in Flynn snapped, and she knew she must take action.

She scampered off again in the direction she thought Ellos had gone. Her trot grew to a run as panic rose, and she crashed through the undergrowth loudly, fear throwing logic to the wind. But then almost as quickly as she had begun, Flynn was stopped short as a dark figure stepped out in front of her and knocked all the breath from her body. She reeled back, doubling over and clutching her ribs and, stumbling, tried to straighten. She looked up to see the tall, grubby-looking figure of a mortal Man, dressed in animal skins and wearing a fur hat over his lank hair, a menacing scowl on his face and a huge axe in one hand. He regarded her through narrow eyes and spoke in a deep, gruff voice in a language she did not understand. When she did not respond, he seemed to make up his mind that she was a foe, and he lunged toward her, his axe flying.

Panicking, Flynn did the only thing she could think of and threw a punch in the general direction of his groin. It landed squarely in his belly and the man stumbled back. Still wheezing, Flynn screamed, "Ellos!" with a raw voice, and she spun and fled. But she did not get far, for she ran headlong into another man, this one bigger than the first, and he smacked her across the face and she stumbled back, stunned. Two massive arms grabbed her from behind and she was lifted, screaming, from the ground. The man who held her set off at a jog and the one who had hit her followed, their heavy boots crashing through the undergrowth and their furs stinking of sweat and food. Flynn screamed for all that her lungs were worth, and the men growled at her in their own tongue, and she felt herself dropped to her feet. The man holding her clapped one hand around her mouth and one around her body, stifling her and restraining her arms and dragging her painfully on.

Flynn could hardly breathe through the massive, calloused and sweaty hand pressing against her nose and filling her mouth with hair, and soon she could not draw breath enough to struggle. Her heart felt like it might explode in her chest, welling with fear and despair. Ellos had said neither women nor elves were afforded any pity by the races of wild men in these parts, and she held little hope for her life. She hardly dared to think where they were taking her and what they would do with her when they got there.

Flynn could see the first man, the one she had run into, jogging along, bringing up the rear now that he could stand again, and she winced, knowing she would be punished mightily for attacking him. But then the strangest thing happened. The man stopped, mid-run, and his eyes rolled in his head and, without making a sound, he crumpled to the ground.

A lightning-fast figure emerged silently from the forest and jumped over the fallen body, and as the figure drew closer she recognised the lithe form of Ellos, fitting an arrow to his bow and sprinting towards them. He loosed another arrow and it struck the man leading the pack and pierced his shoulder, and he hollered in agony. The brute who held Flynn halted and, filled with a new hope, she bared her teeth and bit down hard on the fleshy palm against her mouth. The first man whirled around, his eyes wide with fury as he found the lone half-Elf staring him down with hatred-filled eyes and an arrow aligned. The man cried out in rage and charged at Ellos, his axe in the air. But he had left himself wide open and Ellos shot again, this time slicing through the man's axe-wielding arm, the weapon falling from his hand as he buckled, screaming, an arrow in each shoulder.

The man holding Flynn growled as she bit him but he did not let go. He freed the hand into which her teeth were sunk and unsheathed a hunting knife from his belt. He launched it at Ellos before turning and fleeing, still dragging Flynn, his huge legs making an impossible charge through the thick undergrowth. Flynn screamed, struggling against the strength of his arm, and watched as the knife spun though the air. Ellos ducked the deadly missile and it struck the tree behind him. He took a second to shake himself and again set off after the huge man. There was but one arrow left in his quiver and he aligned it as he ran, and Flynn's eyes were full of terror when he aimed it straight at her. "You cannot shoot him!" she screamed.

"Do not struggle!" Ellos shouted back, but it was against all her logical senses to go limp in the arms of this man. Flynn did not even know if Ellos was as good an archer as he claimed. But she felt her life slipping from her, clothes catching on sharp twigs, lashing her with a lacing of shallow cuts, and somehow, she obeyed Ellos's command. She squeezed her eyes shut tight, unable to watch, and unwittingly held her breath as she stopped struggling. In what felt like an age but was only seconds she felt firmness, her feet touching the ground, and she stumbled, still in the arm of the rough brute, but he was falling, tumbling heavily to the ground, and his arm loosened momentarily and Flynn wriggled from under it, not checking if Ellos had shot him or not, only knowing she had this one opportunity to get away. She stood quickly and ran for her life.

Ellos was waiting for her. He held out a hand and as she took it he pulled her to him, and they racketed through the forest. Flynn's legs pounded as quickly as they would go, trying desperately to keep up with Ellos, who seemed to sail easily through the dense wood, his grip on her tight. Her lungs burned and her legs ached but the adrenaline coursing through her would not let her stop, and nor would Ellos, who tugged at her when she slowed, urgency flashing in his eyes. Just when Flynn was certain she could go no further and she would collapse here in the darkening woods, prey to the Woodsmen stalking silently through the forest, the pair burst from the thinning trees and before them saw stretched out the Vales of Anduin.

Ellos slowed to a trot but did not let go Flynn's hand, peering cautiously about the wide-open country, the sun sinking down behind a sky blanketed in low gunmetal cloud. Flynn's chest rose and fell heavily, regaining breath. Ellos gave her a moment, but soon he seemed to make a decision and he set off again, venturing further out into the green landscape. They did not run as quickly as before but he seemed dissatisfied with the undulating hills and tree-lined hollows, and they jogged on through the dark, Flynn growing weaker with each step but determined not to stop until they had put a million miles between them and the men.

The night was black when Ellos finally slowed, leading Flynn into a clearing in the loose wood on the vales. The dark treetops ringed a circle of sky that showed clear stars and swarthy wisps of cloud, but Flynn could see little else around her. Ellos turned to look at her, the alert concentration on his face washing away slowly, replaced with compassion. Flynn was caught in the headlights of his stare for a moment, and then suddenly the intensity of his concern tipped her from the edge of coping, and she slumped against a tree trunk at the edge of the clearing and dropped her face into her hands. All the fear and shock of the attack came rushing to her and she felt as if she were filling to the brim with fear, and suddenly tears stung at her eyes, and she could not help but cry.

Ellos was with her suddenly, one arm drawing her to him, one hand stroking her hair, his fair voice soothing. "I am so sorry, Flynn," he murmured, "I should never have taken my eyes off you." Flynn sobbed against his shoulder, unable to speak. "I can barely call myself an Elf for not noticing you were so far behind me. This was wholly my fault," he said.

Flynn willed herself to regain composure, and she drew a deep breath, slowing the sobbing. "No," she said resignedly, "I was not watching where I walked. I should have seen... " She trailed off, sighing, pulling away from him slowly. Ellos's brow was creased in worry, full lips pursed and cheeks drawn. She slid down to the ground, deflated. Ellos regarded her a moment with a tilt of his head, then quickly slipped his quiver from his back and sat down beside her. Flynn looked at him then and saw a strange mixture upon his face: guilt, distress, concern and above all, care. These emotions written starkly across the face of someone as stoic as Ellos was compelling, and she stared in his eyes, unable to tear her gaze away, and in a moment he slowly reached up and ran the back of one hand gently down her face, the fingers resting below her lips.

Flynn shivered under his touch, caught in it, and when he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers, she fell headlong from reality. The dim sky seemed to disappear as she tasted the foreign flavour of his mouth, and she found herself responding, kissing him back, challenging his lips with her own. He drew a sharp breath and ran a hand through her hair, and she reached for his face, exploring contour with her soft palm, brushing fingers over lips, tasting the strong masculinity of his mouth in pleasure such as she had not enjoyed for a long time, its headiness drenching her, breaths deepening. Ellos moved in, his body pushing against her, needy and hungry, lips devouring her own, hands snaking over her shoulders, around her neck, under her hair, gripping the curls, pulling her head to him, his will strong.

Flynn could only acquiesce under his passionate strength, accepting his mouth, his wandering fingers, his teeth at her throat, his chest against hers. Ellos planted a line of kisses up under her throat, his lips cold in the crisp chill of night, and he nibbled at her bottom lip as she ran a hand down his chest and sighed softly against his mouth, and tilted her face to his. Looking into his face, they paused a moment, and she saw a brief shadow pass across his eyes, and he pulled his head away – just slightly – and his frame tensed. "I am sorry," he said quickly, consternation on his face, his whole body withdrawing. "I was not... I should not have... You are in no state for this."

Flynn's eyes searched his own, her brows knitting. She shook her head at him. "I am well," she argued. "Do not say such things... Do not stop!" she whispered desperately, his touch lingering upon her. But her permission was too late; the half-Elf was already backing up, standing, stepping away, turning his back to her and making a show of scanning the horizon, his arms folded over his chest.

"We must not lose our guard this night," he said, chagrin in his voice.

Flynn tilted her head, watching him with confusion. "Are we not safe here, or anywhere?" she asked incredulously, her whole being unwilling to believe that she may have to keep moving, keep running, keep searching tonight for the elves near Dol Guldur, and safety.

"We are safe, Flynn," Ellos assured her, finally turning. "But the night is a time for listening." He paused a moment, glancing through the trees, and Flynn thought she caught him trying to stop himself cocking a conspiratory eyebrow when he added, "Not for making noises."

Flynn blinked, stared at him a moment, then shook herself, willing the moment away, knowing that Ellos's word would be final, and if he chose to stand guard all night and pretend that the bubble of their pent-up attraction had not just torn open, he would. But Flynn was not fooled; she had not imagined the quickness of his breath, the eagerness of his hands, the unmistakable firmness in his breeches. If it only took daylight to retrieve that moment, then she would be patient – but only until morning.


	5. Claimed

**AUTHOR'S NOTE **

**This chapter has been edited to remove NC-17 content. The story is also presented in full version at the web address listed in my profile.**

**05 – CLAIMED**

Flynn woke in hazy shifts, the warm mid-morning sun lulling her and drawing her away from every attempt she made at waking. At first she slipped loosely among dreams of a fantasyland that spread out before her; a land of elves, dwarves, halflings, wars, mysticism beyond imagination, and beautifully untouched scenery. But her restfulness became more fitful as images of home, and the dawn smog and towering buildings of the city flickered into her dreams and then gave way to the snarling teeth of angered Woodsmen and the feeling of running and running and getting nowhere, pursued by foul-smelling beasts and faceless threats. With a start she awoke fully, sitting up quickly, her breathing ragged. Her eyes darted around frantically, but the sight that greeted her was a relief of serene beauty and splendour.

All about her flowers bloomed in wild masses, lending their brilliant white hue to the deep green of pine and soft grass. The fragrance of the place was a heady perfume, an intoxicating cocktail of humid sweetness and crisp pine. Long grass cocooned her and traced her face as she peered around their resting site. Flynn knew by now that Ellos's path and steps were always purposeful; always he had a pre-determined course and destination. And this time, he had led her here, to this, to what appeared by first account to be a secret idyllic glade in the midst of the stern hills and woods that covered the Vales of Anduin. She smiled.

Flynn stood up to survey the surroundings, running her fingers through her tangled hair that was more unmanageable with every day, while her clothes were gathering dirt and plant stains. She strongly feared she was beginning to smell worse for wear, and if they did not stop somewhere to bathe soon, she would despair. She turned around slowly and saw that their camp lay in the centre of a small clearing that opened out to a declining bank of grass flanked by large stones. At the bottom she could see the edge of what looked like a pond or pool. Young willows lined the part of the bank visible, their long leaves hanging limp like wispy fingers brushing the water. There was trilling and chirping of birds scattered above. For a long moment, Flynn was taken by the peace and beauty of the place. But then she realised that Ellos was nowhere to be found.

His quiver, bow and pouch lay on the ground, but he was gone. Flynn spun around, eyes darting this way and that. With caution-laden footsteps, she slowly crossed the clearing to the edge of the bank. The rock dropped sheer before her feet, but it was not far to the water. And then her breath caught in her throat. There, in the centre of the pool, standing waist-deep and entirely divested of his clothing, was Ellos. His back was to her, and she inhaled a deep breath to call to him, but every fibre in her body told her to bite her tongue, to keep quiet and enjoy the view gifted to her. The water itself was unusually dark, and nothing of Ellos' form below the hips was visible. Flynn's heart skipped a beat, her pulse quickening and her blood running hotter.

A daring voice inside of Flynn took over every muscle, and quietly she removed her shoes. She stepped carefully, climbing down the bank with swift ease. She halted and stood stock still on the pebbled shore just out of the water's reach. Ellos still had not turned or acknowledged her presence, but Flynn could not fathom that he had not heard her yet. Droplets of water clung to his smooth back, others ran in tiny rivers over his skin as he swirled the water about him gently with his hands. Whether he was here to bathe, or just for the sheer pleasure of it was not clear. Half of her mind directed her sharply to shed her clothes and jump right in with him, cleansing herself of the miles of travelling and the trauma of the previous night. But it was only half a mind. The remaining portion told her to wait. Just wait.

And with good reason. Ellos spoke. He did not turn, or seem surprised, or cease the graceful dance between his hands and the water. All he had to do to catch Flynn completely off guard was speak simple words that posed something not quite a question: "You wish to join me," he said.

Could he hear her heartbeat pound from where he stood? How long had he known she was there? Was it an invasion of privacy to stand here and watch him in this most intimate activity? She certainly did not feel so. It was as if she had been pulled, no, _invited_, to the water's edge.

When she did not reply, Ellos slowly turned and faced her. Flynn realised she had been silently staring, mouth somewhat agape, for longer than was necessary. Her unblinking eyes snapped to his and held. There was not a single thing that Flynn wanted or needed to say. Ellos's inviting eyes said it all – and yet they said nothing, retaining their delicious mystery. Slowly she took a step closer to him. Another followed, and another, until her toes were clutching at the tiny pebbles under the water, seeking out footholds. The cool water lapped about her feet and ankles and she drew in a sharp breath of appreciation, and then sighed. The water was cooler than the warm morning air. Achingly slowly Flynn further eased herself into the water until she was knee-deep. Her pants clung to her calves and felt heavy. She didn't particularly care.

Reaching the middle of the pool, Flynn kept her hands at her sides, tingling with the sensation of gentle currents passing over her skin. She was paralysed within Ellos's gaze then, as his hands glided through the water towards her. Deftly, his fingers intertwined with hers as he swiftly raised her hands out of the water and brought them before his face. He brought his mouth down and kissed the back of each hand in turn, and she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. He smiled.

Flynn's lids fluttered back open to his quietly pleased expression. She took a step closer to him until they almost touched. Ellos ran his right hand up the side of her throat slowly and followed with his lips and then his tongue. Clutching at his sides she felt his body firm and battle-lean beneath her hands. Full lips found her jaw, her chin, her lips, and suddenly he was kissing her hard, his mouth urgent.

Flynn could barely contain the fire inside. Ellos claimed her mouth feverishly, and tasted just as he smelled; of musk and wood, and a spicy undertone she found impossibly sensual. Hands tangled in her hair and he tugged on her bottom lip with his teeth. Hooking his fingers inside the waistband of her pants he bent to kiss her collarbone, and nibbled at it a little before carefully grasping her earlobe between his teeth. His voice came from low in his throat when he uttered, "As an Elf, custom demands I seek your permission before I... take you."

Flynn could not help but play with him. Cheekily she whispered, "Take me where?"

Ellos growled quietly and replied. "You could not imagine."

Flynn sighed staggeringly into his neck, breathing in the scent of his unruly hair. Ellos brought one hand up from her waist, fingers teasing the little sensitive patch of skin behind her earlobe, and she subconsciously nibbled at his neck in response. Her voice barely above a whisper, she managed to utter, "Take me where you will."

Ellos descended upon her with an urgent kiss.

- - - - - 

Afterwards, pulling on his breeches and working a tight bow into the drawstring, Ellos glanced up the high bank towards their camp. "It is lucky that I have someone to watch over me, then," he said and bent down to dress himself fully. Flynn only sighed and shook her head. She leaped back into the water and sub-consciously rubbed herself down in her first real bath in days. Her hands found knurled ridges of skin where sharp branches and twigs had cut her when she was dragged through the woods, and she shivered. Cleaning her wounds, she found light bruises and angry red streaks, and felt momentarily unsettled that Ellos could look so easily upon her body in this state and still find fit to seduce her. She swam for a long time, willing the waters to take away the memories of yesterday, and carry them far down the River Anduin and out to the sea, where they would abandon Middle-earth, and she would be left clean.

- - - - -

After a silent and thoughtful lunch Ellos packed quickly, as was his fashion. Flynn remained seated as he stood and fastened his pouch to his belt before casting his eyes upon her. "You do realise we must leave?" he asked softly.

Flynn sighed wistfully. "I do," she replied. "I just... I did not yet want to think of that." She hugged her knees and glanced about her, inhaling the perfume of the glade. "It is too beautiful here," she added.

Ellos hooked his thumbs into his belt and lifted his head, regarding the clearing as if for the first time. Shafts of sun pierced down through his eyelashes and he flinched away. He met her gaze once again, his face soft and understanding. "You need not fret," he said. "There are many such places as this closer to where you are going."

Flynn smiled, remembering that one of the reasons she had so yearned for Middle-earth was for the intense majesty she imagined in the landscape – and she had not been disappointed so far. But the closer they drew to the elven outpost near Dol Guldur, the closer they came to the time when Ellos would take a horse and go. He would head for Dol Amroth, impossibly far away in the south, and what would she do then?

Ellos was eager to leave, and he turned and headed off. Flynn followed him in silence, reluctantly watching the last of the flowers trail off behind her as they moved away from this place. She swallowed a wish they could stay here for a while and indulge in each other's bodies and pretend that the world was safe. But they pressed on, and soon the pool and all it stood for was far behind.


	6. Elves

**06 – ELVES**

They did not become intimate again, though Ellos brushed Flynn's forehead with a kiss ever fleeting now and then. For two days they wandered steadily southward through the vales, keeping the forest to the east within their sights but not daring to draw close to it until they were well within reach of the elves. Ellos had slowly reverted to his stoic ways, silent as they ranged over hills and under trees, a preoccupied frown working its way into his features. Flynn found a twinge of hurt nagging within her, for she could not be so physically close to someone without expecting some emotional closeness to follow naturally, but Ellos remained, inexplicably, a closed book.

It did not calm the unrest in Flynn to remember that she had known from the start that Ellos would take his solitary path home eventually. And she could not address it with him; it was her choice to do what she had done with him, and she had been more than willing at the time. But now... Now she felt as though she had been used, taken advantage of when she was fragile, set upon by this mysterious stranger from another race who should know just what kind of effect he had on women. And though he was nothing but chivalrous and protective of her as they drew ever closer to the south of the wood where they would find elves, her inner fire sorely missed the way he fuelled her, the heat he set upon her, the spark of his touch.

Eventually Ellos led her back into East Lórien proper, and stepping into the trees she halted a moment, flashes of the darkness of the woods and the threat of its inhabitants rooting her to the spot. Ellos paused and looked back at her, his eyes imploring her to move. "Come," he said, "We are almost there." Flynn steeled herself against his lacking compassion, and followed.

Before long there were signs of life up ahead. The ground was more worn than it should naturally have been here, and she could make out the orange flickering of little fires kindled in the fading light of late afternoon. "We are here," Ellos announced softly. Flynn squared her shoulders, straightening her posture, trying to seem poised and aloof despite her worn and weary appearance. Ellos glanced back at her for a brief moment, then lifted his hand to the lower boughs of the trees before him and gently pushed them forward as an opening through which to walk. Flynn caught his eye, nervousness all over her face, and he gave a reassuring nod. At this prompt she gingerly stepped through the trees.

Flynn could not reign in a breath of wonderment. A dozen real-life elves milled about in the trees, their sable hair hanging long and straight, their ancient faces high in the forehead and cheekbones, their skin pale and radiant. All the elves were male, and each had a bow and quiver slung upon his back, or set down nearby. A few well-kept horses munched noiselessly at the grass around the trees to which they were tethered. All about there was quiet activity, tense and measured. The elves seemed not to have noticed her arrival, but Flynn could bet the last drop of water in a desert that they knew exactly of the presence of herself and Ellos. Flynn felt Ellos's presence behind her and for a second was rushed with the scent of him close at hand. She thought to turn and speak to him but he murmured in her ear, "These are archers of Lórien, guardians of the great wood."

Flynn nodded silently – really there were no words.

"It appears as though they will soon be moving out to guard. Night draws closer," he continued in a measured hush. "There are many posted throughout this part of the wood, but I do not expect you saw them on our way in."

"You mean they have been watching us?"

"Always," Ellos affirmed, casting his eyes upon the elven camp. "We require permission to come here. Be thankful you were not travelling alone."

Flynn shivered – half from a chill breeze, half from the elusive mystery of the elves. It was mind-boggling to think that the lethal archery skills of the elves could be so close at hand, yet with an imperceptible exchange of glance through the trees, Ellos could be granted an unspoken permission as they passed through, and leave Flynn none the wiser.

"Come," he commanded, moving past her. "They have been expecting us."

Flynn followed him into the midst of their camp. Like a dance it seemed as all at once the elves disappeared into the background trees and on to some duty. Only five remained gathered before the two travellers. They stood poised, expectant. In this weighty moment, Flynn for the first time felt just how different Ellos was from these elves. Physically he was unlike them. His skin was darker, his stature shorter, his hair much messier, with the gall to curl disobediently into crushed ringlets, and his demeanour was less lofty. It was newly apparent to her just how human he seemed – how much closer to the ground he was than these strangely angelic, tree-dwelling elves.

Flynn's attention was taken then by an Elf standing at the fore of the group whose hair was of long silver-gold. He wore white, and his face was grave and stern. His pale skin reflected the diffuse evening light, his face seeming to glow with deep mystery reflecting in eyes the golden brown of dark honey. "Welcome Ellos, son of Alpholos and heir of Imrahil." he greeted in a weighty tone.

Imrahil? That name stirred up a bubbling pot of questions. Ellos bowed his head slightly to the elves and said, "Celeborn of Lórien. Thank you for allowing us to come here." He then motioned to Flynn. "My companion here is called Flynn. I found her wandering the fell dark of the wood." Flynn could say nothing, her mouth dry, acutely aware that her jaw had gone slack, but stuck for the impetus to do something about it. This was Celeborn! Celeborn of Lórien! Celeborn, Lord to Lady Galadriel, ruler of Lórien, highest of all elves she could conceive of still living in Middle-earth. She was dumbstruck with awe. Never did she think she would meet one as revered and important as Celeborn!

The elves watched her expectantly. Ellos said, "Flynn, meet Celeborn, hailing from the great realm of Lothlórien. He rules here as we re-build this great wood."

Flynn snapped to focus, and haltingly bowed her head in a humble gesture, offering, "It is a pleasure to meet you."

Celeborn's face was dispassionate. "And you, my lady," he replied. He slowly turned to Ellos and spoke so softly and quickly that she did not quite understand, and was convinced that this ancient Elf was inserting elements of Elvish dialects she had not learned. The other elves, to whom Flynn was not introduced and who she assumed must have been attendants of Celeborn, joined in. Shortly Ellos turned to her and said, "They have agreed to allow you to stay here in their care until you regain your bearings and... recover. I will stay here tonight, but I must leave tomorrow."

Flynn nodded, still unable to form words. She smiled at the elves before her. With a feeling like a flush of heat and ice to the back of her head, her eyes fell upon an immeasurably fair Elf standing quietly at the rear of the small group. The other elves slipped back into conversation, but this one remained silent, watching, with intensity upon his clear face. His gaze was striking, but full of haunting that spoke so unexpectedly to Flynn's heart that it filled her with sudden sadness. His eyes the blue-grey of a day full of sultry clouds held stark keenness much like that of Ellos, but this was a softer, more understanding, longer-lived intensity. His hair was light of colour and was swept back from his regal forehead. He fixed his gaze on her for a moment that seemed to stretch out far beyond what she would consider polite. Flynn's heart skipped a beat. The fair Elf looked away. Ellos turned to her again and ripped her from her transfixion. "We will dine shortly. If it pleases you, you may rest."

Flynn nodded. "I would like that," she admitted, slowly pulling her gaze away from the strange Elf. "I am a little tired."

"Very well," spoke one of the dark-haired elves. "Follow me, my lady," he said with a smile. She obeyed, intrigued. As they moved off the Elf introduced himself. "I am Gildaer of Mirkwood," he announced. He smiled at her again as they walked. The action lit up his youthful face and seemed as though it belonged that way. Flynn reckoned him to be a young Elf, as far as elves went. "I hope you find our dwellings to your liking," he continued. "I am afraid this is no established elven city, and we have not the comfort you might expect."

"It is fine," she assured Gildaer, and added, "Anything is better than the hot darkness of the northern woods."

Gildaer halted at the base of a wide, dark beech, the likes of which Flynn had not encountered at home, though she ventured to guess that this sort of scenery was once prolific in Northern and Central Europe; the stuff of dark and enchanting folklore. The Elf looked up into its branches and Flynn, out of curiosity, followed suit. The tree was immense, with dark green leaves that shrouded the trunk and branches in concentric growth that grew thinner and thinner towards the pinnacle, high in the lofty forest above. In the half-light she could just barely make out a sleek platform with a high arching, carved wooden pergola attached flush to the trunk. Its design was masterful, seeming to hang like a cloth cast over the boughs and petrified over the millennia. At the platform, near the centre of the tree some wooden steps began a half spiral down the trunk, ending in another and much smaller platform. From it hung a ladder made of silvery rope. Gildaer grasped a lower rung of the ladder in one hand. "Can you climb this?" he asked.

Flynn desperately cast her memory back to a high school camp, and the activities involving mastery of the rope ladder. It was tricky, she recalled, very tricky; there was a technique to it. Something about twisting it and hooking your feet in. "I think I can," she replied, only half convinced.

Gildaer seemed to feel the uncertainty in her voice, because he offered to go first. Flynn watched his remarkable agility, snaking his way up the ladder swiftly. Once at the top he called down for her to follow. She took a deep breath and gripped the sides of the ladder, propping her foot into the first rung. Five minutes later – panting, sweating, and having fallen against the trunk numerous times and been slapped in the face by many a twig and leaf in her way up – she reached the top. As her fingers clung to Gildaer's strong arm for dear life, he laughed breathlessly and managed to wheeze out, "You do not do this often, do you?"

"How did you guess?" Flynn laughed, before pulling the rest of her body onto the talan. Gildaer leaned against the tree growing through the centre of this little tree house of sorts, and chuckled. At length Flynn finally sat up and surveyed her new location. "This is wonderful," she enthused. "Much more comfortable than sleeping in the open."

He smiled as though proud, and stood, climbing the few steps up to the main platform. "This is where you will sleep," he informed her, gesturing to the cluster of light silvery pillows, and a grey rolled blanket at the foot of a well-kept and unused-looking straw mattress. Flynn stepped up to the platform and nodded, setting her pack on the floor.

"Well," Gildaer said. "I will leave you to acquaint yourself with the place. Someone will call for you when the evening meal is upon us, and I hope against hope that you shall descend the ladder without trouble." He grinned slyly and Flynn mocked an annoyed expression, feeling strangely coy, the light manner of Gildaer so refreshing after so long with Ellos. With that, Gildaer gave another warm smile and disappeared down the ladder. Flynn sighed and grinned to herself.

She crawled over to the pillows and flopped against them, staring up at the emerging stars, her mind slowly clearing out the dross of the day. But something tugged at her, and she soon knew what. The strange matter of Ellos's lineage was still in question. Flynn frowned to herself and delved into the recesses of her memory, conjuring a map of Gondorian families. If Ellos was an heir of Imrahil as Celeborn had said, then he was indeed of the house of Dol Amroth, but who was this 'Alpholos' Celeborn had mentioned? The only name even remotely related to that was Alphros, son of Prince Elphir who was in turn son of Imrahil, a line descended through many generations from Imrazôr, a Númenórean Man. In fact, Imrazôr was rumoured to have wed the Elf maiden, Mithrellas. If Ellos was indeed from Elphir's line, then it wasn't entirely unreasonable for him to claim that as Elf blood. But it was too grey and area to be certain about, and the Elf blood in Ellos would be so distant as to be insignificant. Besides, Tolkien had never confirmed if it were actually true that Imrazôr was ever involved with the Elf maiden at all. Was Ellos really half-Elf, or even partial-Elf at all?

- - - - -

Food of all kinds was laid out on low, round tables for the evening meal. The elves sat on seats made from the polished, sectioned trunks of fallen trees. There was plenty of fare to go around, and the elves chatted merrily while they ate, and shared in generous jugs full of wine. It was a very short time before the drink had filled Flynn with a heady bubbling, and her eyes fell by chance upon the woefully beautiful Elf she had seen earlier. He dined with the others, but only briefly, and Flynn never had the chance to speak with him, though she felt her face grow hot every time his eyes settled on her. She desperately hoped Ellos would not notice the high pink in her cheeks, or that a vague note of disappointment that rang through her when the mysterious Elf left the glade. He piqued her curiosity, but other than wanting to bask more in his devastating good looks, she could not pinpoint why.

Every now and then an Elf would gather his bow and quiver and set off into the trees, precisely as another would emerge from the shadows to join the group and chime in with the lilting songs that the elves gathered around the fire lent to the darkness and the soft wind in the trees. The voices seemed continuous and as one faded out of the melody, others in the unique round picked up the thread and the delicious and full harmony would continue. Flynn contributed where she could, but as the hour grew late, the drink lulled her senses and her tongue began to lose its precision in speech. As she sang, she felt a hand on her forearm. Her eyes, focusing poorly, found the hand's owner with some difficulty, but recognised Ellos.

"I think you have had enough wine, Flynn," he suggested gently.

"Hah!" she replied, eyes widening. "I have not drunk enough!" She gestured widely with her half-empty glass to illustrate her point, but had some trouble bringing her limbs back to her body. There were chuckles around the table, and Flynn wiped at her forehead and found that beads of sweat had formed. Perhaps she had indulged just a little too much. She twisted in her seat and looked around. "Maybe I should have some water... " She got up and began searching clumsily around for a flask of water, but felt firm hands on her waist. A familiar voice in her ear offered an alternative.

"Perhaps you should get some sleep, instead." At this the grip on her tightened a little. "Come, I will take you to your talan," Ellos continued from behind. His hands were insistent as he pushed her across the camp, and into the darkness of the thickening trees. Once they reached Flynn's ladder, he asked, "Must I carry you up?"

She forced reassurance, saying, "I will be _fine_." Promptly she hooked her fingers into the ladder, shoved her knees into the rungs in an effort to secure her feet, and began the most ungraceful ladder climb ever attempted in the history of Middle-earth. Ellos left her be and finally she arrived at the landing platform with pink rawness on her palms and a fresh dislike for the threads of elven rope, soft though they were. She crawled on hands and knees up the spiral steps, feeling woozy and not daring to peer over the edge for fear that, in her haze, she might well misjudge her steps and fall most ungracefully – and painfully – to the ground below. Clumsily she flopped on to the platform. Flynn rolled on to her back and laughed triumphantly through her breathlessness, then began yanking at her shoes and socks. She tossed them aside carelessly – in fact, far too carelessly, for in half-drunken surprise she watched as one of her trekking boots tumbled off the unguarded edge of the back of the talan into the darkness below.

An exclamation of surprise carried up from the ground, followed by what sounded like a few unfamiliar Elvish curses. Flynn clapped her hand to her mouth. Which poor, unsuspecting Elf had she hit? She crawled forward and peered over the edge of the platform, but could not discern anything but undefined shapes and hazy blackness. The alcohol in her blood was not helping her sight or her rationality at all. Suddenly she was startled by a noise behind her.


	7. Legolas

**AUTHOR'S NOTE **

**This chapter has been edited to remove a small amount of NC-17 content. The story is also presented in full version at the web address listed in my profile.****  
**

**07 – LEGOLAS**

Flynn whirled around clumsily in time to see the shining flaxen head of an Elf appear as he levered himself effortlessly on to the landing platform. He rose to full height above her in a lithe movement and she shrank away, afraid of how hard her falling boot must have hit him. But looking upon his face she saw it was the Elf she had been staring at over dinner. He gently pulled at something tucked into the back of his belt and brought his hand around, and in it, her shoe. Dumbstruck, she looked at it – with slight suspicion upon her face – then at the Elf, and then let out a breath of relief. Before she could say or do anything, he crouched catlike before her and held out her boot. "I believe this is yours," he said softly.

Flynn nodded as she accepted it. "Thank you," she said. "I am sorry, I was not watching what I was doing... I hope it did not hit you too hard."

"It was hard enough," he replied with a smile. "But I will live. I apologise if I startled you." Flynn did not reply, looking him up and down in an unsubtle manner. Two long, white-handled daggers, hilted in a single scabbard were attached to his belt. He wore an olive green suede tunic and grey breeches, but no shoes, and his feet were long and unworn. To her silence, he added, "My name is Legolas –

I hail from Mirkwood."

Flynn's eyes widened and her mouth dropped a little, unable to speak for the second time that day. Legolas! _The _Prince Legolas of Mirkwood, son of King Thranduil; Legolas, another one of the many characters she had so adored! Flabbergasted beyond belief, she took a breath to reply, but only ended up stammering dumbly, which then turned into spluttered cough as a sharp reflux of wine bit at the back of her throat. Legolas patted at her back, frowning, and she tried to regain her breath.

At length Flynn collected herself, mortified at how thorough a fool she was. She cleared her throat for good measure, praying for composure. She said, "I was about to say how very wonderful it is to meet you, Legolas of Mirkwood." She tried to add a smile to her embarrassment.

"Thank you," he smiled again. "It is my pleasure to meet you, Flynn. I am sure we would have met this eve, had Gildaer not forgotten himself and stolen you away." Legolas laughed to himself, and his smile, for the briefest moment, lit his whole face, his straight white teeth and finely creased eyes belying the sincerity of his manner. Flynn wondered if she had ever heard Ellos laugh so light-heartedly, and conceded not. Legolas peered around at the tree about him once more before he spoke again. "I must away. I was on my way to the stream when I was... attacked," he said mirthfully, looking pointedly at Flynn's shoe as she kneaded it subconsciously with her fingers. The Elf cocked his head to the side and regarded her with frankness. He scolded himself then, saying, "It is rude of me not to ask you to come along! I intend to fish in the stream, for it clears the mind so well. I know men make use of lines and baits, but perhaps you have never seen the elven way?"

Flynn frowned curiously, "Which way is that?"

Legolas smiled, "One must join me to find out." He hopped nimbly off the talan and on to the ladder, then paused there for a moment with expectation on his face.

Flynn shrugged. At the very least she could use a splash of water on her face, her swim in the stream of two days ago now well beyond effective. And this Elf certainly was intriguing. She pulled her boots back on and followed him, conceding there was probably nothing like a little drunken fishing to welcome you to Middle-earth.

Legolas lead her silently through the forest at a slow pace, checking her unsteady footing. They came at last to the edge of a stream and he stopped and waited for Flynn to catch up, his relaxed but upright posture illustrating his calm in the dark of the night. Flynn arrived at the water's edge, regarding its surface, rippled like a puckered swatch of black silk. As far as she could see or hear, there was no one around, but in a way the Elf could not understand, she knew she could trust him – because she already knew him. There was a half moon shining in the cloudless sky and its light pierced through the water and betrayed its contents. Dozens of glistening fish swarmed, ducking in and out of vision like winking stars. "Fish!" she exclaimed, pointing at the water.

Legolas hushed her softly. "They scare easily. We must be quiet."

Flynn lowered her voice to a whisper, looking sheepish. "Sorry." Legolas bent down, rolling up his breeches so they bunched at his knees. His legs were shapely and taut and she tried not to stare. "What are you doing?" she whispered.

"I am catching fish," Legolas replied softly.

Before she could ask how he planned to go about it, he had waded noiselessly into the stream and stood half-crouched, poised with his hands above the water, watchful like a cat. Legolas stood this way for some minutes and Flynn dared not speak. She sat down as gently and quietly as she could and watched with fascination. Was he really going to catch a fish with his bare hands? She did not know it could be done, except perhaps by grizzly bears.

There was a flash of movement as Legolas's hands darted into the water; he struggled for a moment, and he came up triumphant, a shining fish clamped tight between his fingers, wriggling fiercely. Flynn clapped and laughed and stood up as he splashed through the water, hurrying nimbly back to the bank. He unsheathed a knife and cut its gills. Flynn winced and stopped clapping as the fish spurted blood over the bank and bled to death quickly.

Legolas straightened up and addressed Flynn squarely. "_That_," he said, "is how to catch a fish – our way."

Flynn swallowed. "Well... I do not know if I like it. Is there always so much blood?"

Legolas gave her a quizzical look. "I doubt that there is any other way to do it. Would you like to try?" he asked.

Flynn wasn't sure that she did want to, if it involved killing the fish at the end, and she said as much.

"And if you just catch the fish, and I attend to the rest?" he offered.

"I suppose we could do that," she conceded, and removed her boots for the second time that night, then followed Legolas's example and rolled her pants up to her knees. Legolas waited for her at the edge, the water lapping his toes. He took her hand to steady her as she waded into the water, and then he began to explain to her the art of waiting poised and motionless. Flynn was still affected by the wine and she swayed a little, but the cool water made her more alert and she listened intently to his instructions. Legolas caught another fish shortly but Flynn struggled to mimic him, and her efforts were comical. She laughed as the fish scattered and slipped through her fingers.

She made attempt after attempt at catching the slippery creatures but never came up successful, while Legolas created a messy pile of trophies at the bank, returning to the water to laugh at Flynn's attempts and offer more guidance. Partly through frustration, and partly through drunken silliness, she gave up the fish-whispering efforts finally and went forthrightly stomping after their quarry as if pounding on the fish would work. Legolas laughed at her, but suddenly she misplaced her footing, and she fell, rear first, into the water.

There was a moment of initial shock of hitting the shallow riverbed. But her stupidity was comical and she snorted self-deprecatingly, in a moment dissolving into laughter. Legolas, chuckling when he was sure she was not hurt, approached to help her up. She took his outstretched hands and dug her feet into the rocky riverbed to hoist herself up, but her footing slipped again and she toppled, this time bringing Legolas along. The pair fell into the water together. They emerged, spluttering, soaked through their clothes and flapping in the shallows. Flynn laughed so hard her stomach hurt and Legolas laughed along, though he seemed shied at the sudden loss of his composure and dignity.

The Elf rose again and extended his hand to Flynn. She stood, doubling with laughter, and it took some long, wheezing breaths before she could shake herself and stand up straight. Legolas folded his hands over his chest and stroked his chin with one hand. There was a twinkle in his eye that warned Flynn of things to come, and she moved to flee but he was quicker than any Elf, and dragged her into the shallows with him before she knew he had her. His laughter rang out musically as he stretched out under her, and she struggled away as he let go, fighting to sit up against the current and her own wracking laughter.

Eventually the Elf saw fit to stand again, but not before grabbing Flynn around the waist and throwing her over his shoulder, the better to get her safely back to dry ground. This only made her laugh harder and by the time he set her back down on the grass she was gasping for breath. Legolas smiled, and he stood by her, waiting for her to settle. He reached back and unfastened the braid that bound his hair, forking his fingers through his soaking locks.

Flynn calmed and sighed. "You look like a rat which has gone swimming," she said in an effort to appropriate an English saying. She rose to her feet with a groan

He stopped wringing his hair, which was not darkened by the water as it should have been, and looked at her. "You describe yourself, it seems," he jested.

Flynn cocked an eyebrow at him playfully and set about wringing her own wet clothes and hair, her lazy curls heavy and stretched out by weight of the water. She bent double and tossed her hair over, squeezing it from underneath, then stood up quickly, flinging the whole mass into the air and over her back. Legolas watched in interest until she was upright again, at which point he quickly looked away, and then his body folded fluidly and he sat on the bank, his arms around his knees, staring pensively out beyond the stream into the forest beyond. Flynn watched him, frowning. There was something compelling in the tight set of his jaw, the almost imperceptible sigh, the strange gravity falling over him. Slowly she sat down near him, feeling as if she could not leave. "Do you always catch fish in the dark?" she asked, and then chided herself inwardly for such a stupid question.

The Elf smiled slowly. "No, but it is better in the evening. I do not do it often, but it does clear the mind of darkness, I find," he answered softly.

"Yes, you said that," Flynn said, growing curious. She thought for a moment, and ventured, "It seems that something weighs on your mind."

Legolas sighed. "Of course," he replied. "It is terrible enough that one must live to see his king die, but to bear the news – that has been akin to repeating the pain, over and over. I am sure you understand."

Flynn could not speak. Aragorn… The king was dead. Aragorn II Elessar, the greatest king that Gondor had ever had, and perhaps the greatest human friend that Legolas had ever known, had passed this very year. The only thing she could think to say was, "I am so very sorry for you, Legolas. I did not know."

Legolas looked at her with a curious eye then. "You did not know? But I have been heralding the news all over the land, much though my heart wills me to forget it. Surely you heard tidings?"

Flynn thought quickly, shaking her head slowly. "As Ellos said, I have been wandering the woods, lost – I know not for how long. I heard nothing from outside."

Legolas gazed at her a moment, though his eyes seemed somewhere far away, somewhere where, Flynn imagined, his grief had been gnawing at him and the world had begun to lose purpose. "Then I am sorry to bear the news to you," he finally said.

Flynn only nodded. She knew the grief of losing Aragorn; she had felt that selfsame sorrow when first she had read of his death in the appendices of _The Lord of the Rings; _that same shock mixed with the sting of inevitability. She, too, had wished the king had the ability to live forever like his immortal wife; had really thought that, with his Númenórean blood, he might. There were no words for a man as great as he. One of his many names, Estel – 'hope' – would forever describe him. She felt the sharpness of Legolas's recent grief like a chill wind. "We should sing a lament," she said.

Legolas smiled wanly. "You are good to want that," he murmured. "But I no longer have the heart. I feel it is fading from me, even now."

Stark worry crossed Flynn's brow. "Do not say that, Legolas!" she cried, knowing well that an Elf with a broken heart was as good as dead. "You have much life yet!" It was cliché, but it seemed like the right thing to say.

Legolas smiled bitter-sweetly. "Thank you for saying so," he said. "For the elves cannot see hope and light anymore. They see nothing but fading and ending." He sighed again. "How I wish these days were younger."

Flynn stared contemplatively at him, and thought to impart a pearl of wisdom from her own homeland. "You are only as old as you feel, Legolas," she told him, and he smiled widely, and laughed softly.

"Come, you should get dry," he said shortly, "I will show you back to your talan."

Flynn nodded and followed him back through the forest, her footsteps squelching on the leaf litter. Legolas stopped at Flynn's tree and held the ladder steady for her as she climbed, and waited until she was safely upon the talan. Before he disappeared into the darkness he bid, "I shall see you in the morning, Flynn," and was gone.

Peeling off her wet clothes and drying herself crudely with a towel she found in a pile of linens, she unrolled the grey blanket and laid it out under her. Flynn collapsed appreciatively on the pillows and it was not long before her eyelids drooped and she felt the heaviness of slumber creeping upon her, rolling in like fog. But just as she was about to cross that blurred line, something jolted her awake again. Her eyelids snapped open and her heart raced, and she wondered about the disturbance. A noise? Yes, a noise. But from where did the noise come, and what was it? Her head whipped about, searching. As she laboured to prop her tired body up, she saw a familiar head crowned with a messy mass of curls appear at the edge of the talan. Ellos. Pulling his agile body on to the platform. Looking rather influenced by the consumption of wine, and more than that, looking impossibly gorgeous.

"You scared me!" Flynn hissed.

Ellos did not seem at all sorry. In fact he did not seem quite anything, besides drunken and lusty. He had a hungry look in his eyes that Flynn did not find altogether unappealing. She was about to fully sit up and ask what it was that he wanted, when he spoke.

"Do not get up," he commanded in a hoarse whisper.

Flynn halted, wondering where this was going. But it took only a moment to figure out, after which she wondered whether or not she wanted to go there. She weighed it up. On one hand, she was disappointed in Ellos for leaving her, especially after they had shared such intimacy just a few days previous. But on the other hand, this could very well be their last night together, ever, and the wine in her blood was already arousing her ardour. But by the time Flynn had reasoned that this was too tempting an offer to pass up, Ellos was already upon her, and besieged her with a fierce kiss. She groaned into it and brought her hands to his waist, grasping at his clothing.

- - - - -

Ellos collapsed beside her, breathing slowing, his eyes closed, chest glistening as it rose and fell. She reached over him and pulled the blanket over their two forms. His dark eyes locked on to hers and he began, "Flynn – " then stopped.

She propped herself up on her elbow, her face on her hand, looking probingly down at him. "Yes?"

"Flynn, you must not tell any of the elves about this."

This was not something she wanted to hear after lovemaking, but she knew Elf custom. To make love was usually to 'bind' yourself to your lover according to the elves. Ellos had made no mention of this, so she had assumed he was not held so tightly to the tradition because he was only half-elven – if he was elven at all. But she already had no intention of telling the other elves, her private business being her private business after all. And if the other elves were as she recalled Tolkien describing them, they did not approve of Human and Elf dalliances in the least. She pursed her lips before replying, "I will not."

"Good," he said. "It is very important that you do not say anything. Do you understand that?"

Flynn frowned. "I understood it the first time you asked, Ellos." She held his gaze for a moment, but he either failed to notice her offended tone, or he did not much care. She rolled over, her back to him. She felt slighted that he did not think she would fully understand how to keep their affairs discreet. And though she had told herself it was not a problem, she really did not want him to leave. Not yet. Flynn, despite her wishes, was attached, and she did not want to let him go. She sighed and adjusted herself more comfortably on the bed pallet, doubting Ellos could fail to sense her unease. But if he could feel it, he made no move to comfort her.


	8. Abandoned

**08 – ABANDONED**

When Flynn awoke, it was late in the morning. Hours before, birds had begun to sing for the violet dawn light, and now the day was fully aroused. It was warm and humid up in the heights of the trees, and smelled thickly of pine. But the ground was the place of activity, for the elves woke with the sun and worked hard for their hunger before the reward of the morning feast.

Sleep gave in to waking and gradually Flynn's mind cleared. She had been left to sleep in peace for quite some time, which seemed rather considerate of the elves; she had expected to be woken with dawn and put to work, probably in the sculleries. This long stretch of sleep was a sufficient deal more than she had been having of late, considering all the recent waking at the crack of dawn for traipsing-of-the-countryside with Ellos. With the thought of the half-Elf, she rolled over with a lazy stretch of limbs and eyes creased shut in a yawn. Flynn brought her hand gently down to the place where Ellos lay, but her hand was greeted with only air and the hard wood of the talan. Her eyes snapped open. He was gone.

Flynn sat up and rushed to lean over the back edge of the platform, but only shrunk back with the realisation that she was still nude. Gathering a spiral of blanket around her, she hastened to the edge once again. The forest was thick despite the light sun, and as far as she could discern, Ellos was nowhere below. Creeps of doubt met her sternly; had he left without so much as a goodbye?

Flynn cursed softly in English and looked around for her clothes. The effort was fruitless for they were nowhere to be seen, or else tangled up impossibly in the bedding. She fumbled with her pack, tipping its contents out and grabbing at the last spare change of clothes that were passably clean. Messily she pulled on mismatching underwear and a pair of loose-fitting drawstring pants that were more appropriate for the late spring weather, and wrestled into a sleeveless top. Not bothering with shoes, she attempted to pull her hair into some incarnation of a ponytail with only mild success.

Rushing clumsily down the rope ladder, Flynn burned her hands as she slipped and grappled her way to the ground, hoping silently that Ellos was still in the vicinity. Puffing and cursing, she set off at a trot through the trees in what she hoped was the right direction. The last thing she needed was to be stranded in a foreign forest – again – without her pack or even her knife. But she sighted activity up ahead. She slowed down as it occurred to her that it look suspicious to rush in frantically seeking Ellos. With a forced air of calm, she strode into the clearing. Elves milled about quietly, tending to weapons, horses, equipment, and the like. Celeborn, Legolas, and Gildaer sat together around the central table. Gildaer noticed Flynn first and smiled his warm grin. She waved and forced a smile, preoccupied with thoughts of Ellos. Nervously her eyes skipped about the glade and in doing so she realised that Gildaer was waving her over, and Legolas and Celeborn had stopped conversing to look up at her. Hoping strongly that they had not seen the darting of her eyes, or the lump in her throat, she swallowed hard and crossed the shining grass quickly.

"Good morning," she greeted, trying to sound casual, not convinced she had succeeded. The presence of Celeborn unnerved her like nothing else, and she balled her hands into tense fists.

"Good morning to you. I do hope you slept well," Legolas responded with a smile.

Tensely Flynn replied, "Yes – thank you for allowing me to sleep so late."

"You have journeyed long, and it is only fair," Legolas said. "Please, have a seat," he offered, and Flynn did so tentatively, still awed and intimidated by these fair and composed elves, and not a little struck by Legolas's cool composure in contrast to his light playfulness the night before. Or had she dreamed they had splashed gleefully in the stream? She _had_ been a little drunk, after all...

Legolas and Celeborn sat close together at the far end of the table, conversing in hushed tones. Flynn caught Celeborn's eye and he smiled curtly. He turned to Legolas and resumed speaking hurriedly in his peculiar Elvish, and Legolas responded in kind. Their conversation was shared with haste, as though they fussed about some common source of concern. In fact, to Flynn it sounded suspiciously like they were gossiping, if elves ever indulged in such a base activity.

Flynn looked at Gildaer in bemusement, who had refrained from joining the discussion. Instead he spoke over their hush of voices and asked, "Would you like something to eat, my lady? We take breakfast much earlier than this hour, but it will not be difficult to account for the eating habits of men."

"Or women," she corrected with a smile.

Gildaer raised an eyebrow. "My apologies, my lady." He grinned then, and Flynn relaxed a little, but still the matter of Ellos was on her mind.

"Well I would not mind something to eat, if it is not too much trouble," she told him, then added, "But there is something I should like to ask you first."

Gildaer was already half risen from his seat, but he sat again. "Yes?" he said.

Flynn took a forcedly subtle breath. "I wondered where Ellos might be this morning."

Silence fell. Birds trilled high in the forest. The moment was awkward and heavy, like differing political views at a dinner party – but far worse because it seemed to have fallen from nowhere. Six eyes conversed with each other. 'You talk.' 'No, you talk,' they seemed to say, communicating something Flynn was not privy to, and wished to be. Legolas seemed anxious, and Celeborn glared at him, but it appeared as if this head butting competition had come to a horn-locked stalemate, and neither Elf wanted to answer Flynn's query. Why was Ellos a bone of contention? Gildaer looked to Flynn. "Ellos has departed," he said.

Flynn's heart increased a hundredweight and sunk into the pit of her stomach.

"He left very early this morning, as far as we can gather, and took with him a horse he had arranged for last night."

At this she frowned. "What do you mean by, 'as far as you can gather'?"

Gildaer glanced quickly back at Legolas, whose tense countenance offered no support. Alone he went on. "We did not see or hear Ellos leave. He slipped past us at some dark hour of the morning. It seems as if he intended to depart unnoticed."

Flynn's frown deepened into pained frustration. "He did not even say goodbye to you? He did not tell you what he was doing? Where he was going?" she asked.

Legolas shook his head slowly.

"He did not speak a word," Gildaer replied.

"That is to say, he did not speak to us," Legolas added.

Flynn pressed her lips together. She regarded him differently for a moment – defensively. Was he implying that Flynn should know more about Ellos's plans than they did?

"Let me clarify, Flynn – we are not surprised at your friend's actions," Celeborn finally intoned.

"Not surprised?" she asked, curious. "He leaves in the early morning without a word of thanks, fails to consider anyone else, and you are not surprised?" She added, "And please do not say that he is _my_ friend; I think he is a closer friend to you elves. I have known him but ten days."

Legolas cocked an eyebrow and shared a knowing look with Celeborn. Every hint of suggestion in Legolas's face annoyed Flynn more. If he had something to say, she wished he would just say it.

"It is typical for Ellos to come and go in this manner," Gildaer explained. "We have come to expect his behaviour, though it is not condoned."

"He is not the wisest or most chivalrous person you could have as your travelling companion," offered Legolas.

Something dawned upon Flynn. "Wait," she said, shifting a glare between Legolas and Celeborn. "That is what you were talking about together in whispers, is it not?"

The two older elves shared an uneasy look. "We were discussing Ellos's behaviour, yes," said Legolas.

Celeborn added, "The elves grow tired of those who become separatist; who choose oftentimes to ignore the values and generosity of their kin."

Flynn's language receptors scrambled over words, hoping she was interpreting correctly, unsure she was.

"But he is largely untouchable," Legolas added. "Because he is royalty."

"But so are you, Legolas," Gildaer protested, "and you do not act as such, and we would _certainly_ confront you if your behaviour displeased us. I do not see why we treat Ellos so differently."

"It _is_ different, Gildaer, and perhaps always will be. Ellos and myself are entirely dissimilar. He is not approachable about such things. And I am sure he does not feel wholly answerable to our kin when he is, as he says, only _half_ Elf. His loyalty to either race can only stretch so far," Legolas argued calmly.

In his strangely slow, heavy tone, Celeborn added, "I would question that he should not be purely loyal to the race of Men." When the others at the table only stared at him, he went on, "For I do very much doubt that any Elf blood still runs in the veins of his kin. I feel it so little in him that I do not think him an Elf at all."

Softly, Legolas added, "Nor do I."

Gildaer leaned in. "Forgive me, but this is not our concern. The lady wished to know what may have happened to Ellos this day."

"No, I would like to know –" Flynn started, but Gildaer pressed on.

"Though I must say," he added, "I am sure that catering to the needs of another person besides himself and travelling slower than he required to adds more concern to his life than that to which he is accustomed."

"He would not normally do for someone what he did for me?" Flynn asked, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

"It is unlikely that he would," Legolas offered.

Flynn's brows rose slightly, but she said nothing. What to make of this? If the elves themselves doubted his heritage even more than she did, then how well did she even know this strange person called Ellos at all? Of course it was kind of him to trouble himself for her, but who on earth was he, and why had he run so hot and cold towards her? Even more pressing a question: why had she _let_ him come so close to her, when she had always suspected the depth of his sincerity? She shivered, remembering the heat in his fiery umber glance, the spark in his touch.

Flynn looked at the elves at the table. It seemed they inferred that something rather unorthodox had played itself out between herself and Ellos. She fiddled with the edge of the table, at a loss for words that would prove her innocence. Glances were exchanged while she was busy avoiding eyes.

"Perhaps I should see about your breakfast," said Gildaer with a fresh smile, rising from his seat again.

Flynn smiled and nodded distractedly, worrying just what the elves knew. Feeling a hand upon hers that brought a brief comfort with it, she glanced up to its owner, Legolas, whose blue-grey eyes regarded her silently. A moment passed. "I do not mean to pry," he said softly, "But if you asked me my thoughts, I would say that you should not worry about something that may not be worth your trouble."

Flynn looked away, an unwanted blush burning at her cheeks. A moment later an Elf approached Celeborn and murmured something in his ear. Celeborn rose and excused himself. He followed the Elf from the clearing, his heavy brow creasing. Flynn watched him go, but felt the eyes of the remaining Elf burning on her. She looked back at him. "Well... thank you," she said.

"For what am I to be thanked, my lady?"

"Your concern."

"My concern is not out of niceness, but fairness," Legolas replied, his gaze unwavering. "A lady should not be treated as Ellos has treated you, but sometimes we are shocked by those who are not what they seem. Or what we would like them to be."

Flynn was suddenly uncomfortable under his eyes. She felt the urge to go, to steal some time for herself, to leave this conversation behind. She moved to get up, not wishing to engage with the Elf any further, compelling though he was.

"Are you going?" he asked.

"I think I need to be alone."

"No, stay," Legolas said, rising from his own seat. "I will go. Stay, and let Gildaer tend to your every need." He hinted at a grin. In a moment he had turned and strolled through the sunny grass, unaware of Flynn's eyes on his back as he vanished into the woods.

Flynn's mind ticked. She could have steeled her heart against Ellos. She would have made her decisions differently. Wouldn't she? Perhaps Legolas was right; perhaps the novelty of Ellos and his vain, deceptive beauty had blinded her. Part of Flynn suggested she was analysing too much – Ellos had never said anything false as far as she could tell, and if she was surprised, it was because she had convinced herself that he was more than what he was; that he was more than temporary, that he might not leave. But he _had_ left, after all. And there was nothing she could do.

- - - - -

Flynn made a conscious effort to try to enjoy her first full day with elves. After her breakfast with Gildaer, she had been shown to the private fountain where she bathed in peace. She was grateful for the blessing, for it had been too long a time since she last washed properly; in fact, it was not since she had shared the water with Ellos. The thought made her grimace as she undressed. Most everything about him had seemed so novel at first, but now there was a newer, perhaps clearer, less favourable notion of him to attach to her recollections. She still could not grasp any one mood and settle down, clear her head. Was what the elves said about him really true, or just something spread in bitterness? He had seemed so wholly unreal, even through his flaws.

Flynn tried to distract herself from the aching thoughts of the Elf-Man, consciously rubbing down her skin as she bathed. She was sheltered all around by a unique rock structure, a fissure high in a shard of hill at the edge of a low cluster of mountainous rises. A natural spring fed the pool from the western wall, and an elaborate stone spout had been fixed to the rock, no doubt the craftsmanship of the elves. A low arch formed the entrance of the pool, and was draped with cloth and tied closed with indigo silk when occupied. Once inside, the high rock walls more or less formed a circle of black stone glistening with moss and the spray of mist cast up by the long fall of water.

The sun drew hot overhead and Flynn swam lazily to the rock ledge inside the entrance. She had left her clothes there, but now they were gone. Instead she found they had been replaced by a pile of fabric that was not her own. She glanced around for a culprit but saw no movement other than the water lapping out in concentric circles. Folding her arms self-consciously over her breasts she glided through the water to get a closer look at the pile. They were clothes clearly of elven design, and she sighed with relief.

Sitting still naked but dry on the ledge that hung half submerged under the water, she dangled her calves and inspected what had been left for her. She had been given clothes, it appeared: a small man's tunic, greyish-brown, made from light wool, with a high and stylised collar, and a long, green skirt of the same fabric. As she dressed and stood, her eye caught a sash of fabric she had missed, and she bent to pick it up. It was a green belt run through a simple buckle, and she tied it low on her hips so it would keep the tunic neat. Her generation never was fond of tucking shirts in.

Barefoot, Flynn carefully picked her path back towards the camp. She breathed in the fresh scent of wood and water all around, tilting her face to the late morning light and hooking her thumbs into the delicate belt. She closed her eyes for a few moments to indulge in the warm light on her face and the birdsong all around. But this would prove an ill-conceived idea which left her vulnerable to any enemy, or, in this case, unaware of the Elf who emerged noiselessly from the woods and stopped, standing in front of her, waiting. In a moment she was close she opened her eyes again, and surely enough was startled to see a sharp-eared creature where there had been nothing but open path. She gasped, reeling for a moment and halting awkwardly.

"You!" Flynn exclaimed, regaining her breath. "Is something the matter?"

Legolas laughed to himself and Flynn took objection.

"What is so funny, Legolas?" she demanded.

Ever honest in the matter of his kin, Legolas replied, "Your footsteps are as the pounding of the Dwarf's hammer and chisel in this forest." He grinned.

Flynn snorted, offended, and said, "That is not a nice thing to say."

"Perhaps," he replied, his grin sly, "but you know well, I am sure, that a mortal is no match for an Elf."

His words hit Flynn without ambiguity, and a fire sparked up in her. She bristled, hands gripping tightly at her waist. "I know that you try to say something more, Legolas," she said, "but I do not appreciate talking in riddles. Least of all with someone who does not know me." She glared at him but he said nothing. Immortals seemed to forget that not everybody had infinite time in which to answer words directed at them. Flynn bit her lip to keep from saying anything she might regret later, and she moved to brush past him. But his hand caught her wrist – gently but with an inhuman strength to which she could put up no resistance.

He took a moment to look her over, clad in an adjusted version of the attire of the elves. "Come with me," he urged her softly. "I want to show you something – if you please, my lady."

Flynn scowled, but he hardly waited for a reply before taking off at a trot, his hand clutching hers, and Flynn could only acquiesce, and she ran along in tow. Her feet kicked up leaves and detritus in her wake but Legolas left no footprints as they ran hard and dodged greenery. Soon his light feet began to slow to a trot, then a walk, in smooth and quiet transitions, and he loosed his hold on her hand, and she leaned her hands on her knees, panting heavily.

"I see you run as well as you fish," he jested.

She shot him a dirty look. "You have no idea how difficult it is to run in a skirt."

Legolas extended his long hand to take hers, tugging her gently through the trees, and they emerged to a sight that stole Flynn's breath away. A little waterfall thundered down before them, frothy and white, into a low green-forested gorge carved by the meandering stream. The waters ran steadily through the gorge's trough and shone madly as the sun climbed higher. Flynn's jaw went slack for an awestruck moment, her breathing caught on the beauty. When she could finally pull her eyes away from the sight, she found Legolas beside her, regarding her silently. "How beautiful," she breathed.

A smile graced his mouth and eyes. Flynn gazed back at the waterfall. The grey stone was warm under her feet, and she sat down, stretching her legs out in front. Legolas removed his quiver and set it down, crouching, not sitting, his whole body alert. Were elves ever totally relaxed? The water pounded on down the rocks off a little ways to their left. Flynn watched a group of small, speckled brown birds she could not identify flitting from one side of the stream to another and back again. She tilted her head back to Legolas. He met her eyes, raising his eyebrows ever so slightly as if to implore her to speak. She did. "Why did you bring me here?" she asked.

Legolas answered softly, turning his head back to the waterfall, "Because it is beautiful. And because it is a good place to talk if one wishes not to be interrupted."

"And if I do not want to talk to you, Legolas?" Flynn challenged, hardly able to keep the sharp edge off her tone.

Legolas glanced away, seemingly looking for the right words, and then met her eyes again. "I do not want to do this, Flynn – not when I thought last night that I had perhaps made a friend, and I am running short of mortal friends these days."

Flynn's face softened a little, disarmed by his frankness. Truly it was impossible not to appreciate the unfettered honest favoured by this Elf, who had had nearly a thousand years to indulge in all the silly game-playing that someone Flynn's age was only just growing out of. She sighed and looked him in the eye, a part of her still remembering that jump in her belly and the strange sadness in his eyes when she had first seen him, and she said, "I too thought we might be friends, Legolas, but you have said things to me today which seemed like veils for harder words, and I wish you would tell me what you mean, and then leave it."

Legolas relaxed from his taut crouch and sat himself down nearer to Flynn and stared out over the little waterfall and the stream. "Yes," he said softly. "I wish not to riddle with you for I see that that is not fair, but I have been reluctant to say what I know for I fear to hurt you by it."

Flynn smiled wryly, amused that the Elf could possibly fear anything about her. "Just tell me Legolas," she said, "for I think that we both know that you wish to speak about Ellos and myself. But if it is that things that may have passed between us were – what is the word? – inappropriate?"

Legolas had fixed her with his wide-eyed and open stare, and did not affirm her word choice.

"If that is what you think," she continued, somewhat quailed, "then do not say it, for I already know what you elves think of such things."

"You are right," he replied. "I shall be brief and then I pray we may forget this as you wish." He paused, gathering words to him. "Flynn, I know that you and Ellos were not merely travelling companions, though you may be assured that it is only I who knows this. I admit I had not gone far from you last night when... when Ellos visited."

Flynn's eyes were suddenly saucers, horrified that this Elf had heard her and Ellos's lovemaking – if there was any love involved at all – and knew precisely what had passed between them. She grimaced, bile rising in her throat, her mind racing with the possibilities of how many other elves could have heard the very same thing. She avoided Legolas's eyes as he went on: "But it was only I in the area, so do not think your secret has gone beyond me. Flynn, I know that his leaving saddens and troubles you. I do not want to see you sad and troubled so."

Flynn's face was hot; her secret was not so secret after all. She turned her head away as embarrassment sparked the hairs on her body to stand erect. Pretending to watch the waterfall she swallowed the uncomfortable lump in her throat. She murmured, "There is nothing you can do about whether I am sad or troubled."

Legolas cleared his throat and said, "Would it make you feel any relief to know that if Ellos had stayed, you would have likely felt this way anyway? We _know_ him, Flynn, and you must trust me when I say that sooner or later he would have treated you with more disregard than he has already, and you would without doubt be the more hurt for it; for thinking all the longer that he might not leave you. Anything I have said today which has seemed a riddle has simply been so because I have had not the heart to talk of his true nature. But there it is."

Flynn was silent. What could she say to this, this strange Elf who was so quick to judge Ellos and make assumptions about his intentions? And was this an insult, too? An insinuation that she could not possibly mean anything to Ellos, that she could not possibly be special to him? Legolas had not spent the best part of ten days with Flynn and Ellos; how did he presume to know what was true between them? Flynn closed her eyes, swallowing, and softly murmured, "You say that you know him, Legolas, but do you not think that I could know him, too? Do you think I needlessly had trust in him?"

"No," Legolas answered plainly. "There is good in Ellos and I am sure he has shown it to you. But he has darkness in him too; darkness which sets a shadow across my mind whenever I see him or speak of him. Though I wish to say no more of it, I think it would be wisest for you to forget him. Please, Flynn," he implored, gazing at her with a submissive face, "do not think my motives selfish – I wish only to warn you of danger. It would be selfish and foolish of me to see someone on the edge of that terrible hole of disappointment, and not allow them to know the truth from other sides; sides they cannot themselves see."

Flynn turned away, the lump in her throat tightening. "I do not ask for your protection, Legolas," she said. "I know that you think a mortal unworthy for an Elf of any kind, but at least let me keep some dignity. I am wise enough to know who is bad and who is good, so do not think I believe Ellos pure and true. But let me keep my memories," she said, her words clipped and stoic as she stared at the Elf. "For he is gone now and I do not see why I should be speak with you about it at all."

Legolas held her stare for a long moment, and after a second she could hear the ringing of the poor grammar in her last sentence, but if he had noticed it he did not flinch. Flynn held her ground, unblinking under his intense gaze, feeling like she knew what she saw in those eyes; cogs turning, mechanics clicking, an Elf surprised at a woman's directness, processing it in all its unfamiliarity. "Very well," he finally said. "Let us move on from this now; I heard Gildaer coming up the path but a moment ago and I surely think he is come to announce that the noon meal is upon us."

When Flynn said nothing nor made any indication that she had heard him, he stood and offered her his hand. She looked at it for a moment as if it were a dead rat which had caught fire, but then relented and accepted and let him help her to her feet, and she did not fail to notice the effortless strength he held, not even registering her weight at the end of his arm. And surely enough in a moment Gildaer emerged, smiling, from the edge of the woods, and as surely as Legolas had said, he invited them down to the glade for their lunch. Flynn moved off quickly, leaving the elves to follow.

Activity buzzed in the glade. Each table was laid out with a buffet, and fine tableware was already in place. Elves were all about, organising platters, laying cutlery, and rinsing their delicate hands in wooden basins. Celeborn and Legolas were seated at the same table over which they had conversed that morning. From the corner of her eye Flynn saw Gildaer trying to catch her attention.

"We will sit at the head table," he said, motioning to Celeborn and Legolas's table with a nod of his head. But Flynn had no desire to have to sit within close range of Legolas and his haughty assumptions, and she was still perplexed as to why she was permitted to sit at the table of the powerful and revered Celeborn, except that perhaps these elves felt some obligation to keep the weak female Mortal protected.

Gildaer was persistent and he led her to their table and offered her the place next to Legolas. She sat stiffly, pretending with all her might that she was not at all discomfited. But as she selected bread and fruits and filled her plate as the other three elves at her table were doing, she stole a glance at the Elf at her side. To her surprise he turned and met her gaze at the same moment, their faces close, and she set her jaw, defiant. But Legolas's face was an open book, and in that moment she knew beyond doubt that Legolas did not lie to her.

Flynn broke eye contact first, her mouth unwittingly turning down. Her stomach roiled, and she could only pick at her food silently. The elves chatted over lunch and made no matter of her dark mood. She wondered if they all knew or suspected something, or if it was only Legolas who had perceived so much of her feelings for Ellos.

The conversation turned to the horses, and Celeborn told of what he had been called away to that morning. It seemed that Gildaer's own steed, Aior had fallen ill. Celeborn gently informed Gildaer that Aior had been treated for now but that someone must travel to Lórien to obtain the highly reputed healer who dwelled there, and bring her back to treat him. At this Celeborn turned to Flynn and said, "I understand from Ellos that you were intending to reach Lórien?"

Flynn looked up from her plate, startled by the rich authority of Celeborn's voice, directed at her. Why had Ellos told him that? She had certainly never mentioned a plan to go there, though she did remember wistfully expressing regret that she would never see Lórien in its glory days, now long since passed. Despite herself, she nodded, knowing not at all where she really wanted to go.

"You may travel with whomever we send on this errand," he said, and his words were clipped, as though millennia of existence had somehow, inexplicably, left him impatient with words.

She nodded again. "That is kind of you," she murmured, only half present.

"You would leave tomorrow morning," Celeborn added.

Flynn looked up at him and quickly weighed the idea of the journey. She would be sad to leave all these elves, but on the other hand she did not think she could hold up around Legolas for long, with his keen perception and prying words. She glanced at Legolas, who chewed noiselessly on a bread roll. She felt fondness for him in her pity for his grief, but there was so much indignance and embarrassment in her heart that she could almost not stand to be near him. Flynn decided that she would leave. She did not need complication; for Valar's sake she had come to Middle-earth to have a better time than she had been having at home. "I will go," she agreed. "I do not mind the haste."

Celeborn smiled benevolently and he nodded. "Very well," he replied, and looked over the table, saying, "I must decide who shall be our messenger to Lórien."

"I will do it," Gildaer offered. "It is, after all, my horse who needs treatment."

"You cannot," Celeborn replied. "You are needed here."

Gildaer's face dropped but he did not protest; he had his duties, like so many others. Celeborn looked to Legolas, who had seemed to detach from the conversation, perhaps in order to protect himself from the negative energy pouring from Flynn. "You intend return home soon, Legolas?" Celeborn asked.

Legolas blinked to attention. "This was to be my last point of call before I return, yes," he replied softly. "Do you wish me to carry this message?"

Flynn's stomach sank into her ankles and settled there.

"If you would do this willingly then I would give you the task," Celeborn affirmed.

"I will go to Lórien," Legolas agreed. "I suppose I must bear my news there, too, though I had thought I could avoid it when there are not so many living in that wood now."

Celeborn's face softened, and he put his hand on Legolas's arm. "I am sorry, Legolas," he said. "It is not an easy load you bear. But you are right; there are fewer who live there now, and you will not be saddened by more sorrowful faces than you can endure."

Legolas nodded and glanced pensively away. Flynn swallowed her distress. She sorely wished she had known Legolas was to be her escort before she had agreed to leave, but to back out now would only arouse suspicion and interest and she did not think that she could mitigate these, especially from elves. And she did not know just how long she was welcome here at this temporary outpost. She smiled weakly at the diners at her table. Celeborn smiled wanly, seemingly glad to have sorted the issue, but Flynn soon excused herself and returned to her talan.

Flynn lay on her bedroll, her eyes flickering over thin shafts of light that forked through the leaves above. She rolled over and felt a squishy lump of fabric bunched in the arc of her spine; she did not remember the mattress being this lumpy last night. Propping herself up on her elbow to investigate she found that a folded pile of her clothes had been set there for her. Flynn leafed through the pile, finding the clothes that had been lifted from the bathing pool earlier that morning. She smelled her shirt – it had been washed. Everything was clean and had a scent of pollen to it. Knowing the elven tendency to instil beauty in everything they created and touched, she mused that they had probably dried her clothes in a field of flowers and then danced around them singing some folk tale about the wonderful merits of clothing and how great a gift from the Valar fabric was.

Flynn smirked at the thought, but though this new aroma was pleasant, it erased the old traces of Flynn from modern-day Earth. It forgot the fabric softener and cheap washing powder and smell of cooking and deodorant and sweet incense that made her clothes so unique here. It washed away any real and evocative trace of her home and her former self. The link to the past – though recent – was fading, slowly dissipating, and perhaps soon home would be nothing but a land somewhere in her memory. But she had chosen this life, and she vowed not to miss her former home. It would do no good at all.

Faintly she could hear the sharp grunts of Elves practising knife fighting in a field just beyond her talan. She was on the fringes of the community here, looking out through the lazy afternoon light over a yellow field of unused straw archery targets and lean, well-toned males whose sweat glistened without scent and whose every movement was a measure of perfection... No, thinking of the elves that way had found her in trouble before, and at that moment she resolved to stay aloof from them. She would not grow attached to anyone who was not already attached to her. She would not grow attached, she told herself, to anyone who was not human.


	9. Travelling

**09 – TRAVELLING**

By the early hours of the next morning, Flynn and Legolas were ready to depart. They had chatted civilly about the journey over dinner and Flynn had taken an early night, expecting their first day's travel to be lengthy. So it came that they were standing by two mares waiting to leave. Isilyn, a moonstone-coloured horse with a reputedly placid nature had been chosen for Flynn, and Rhaia, a larger mare with sleek, dark hair and the air of a well-bred warrior, was the name of Legolas's horse. Celeborn stood with the departing travellers discussing last minute instructions with Legolas. The horses had been saddled – or what the elves might deem to be saddling – with very basic harnesses that were only used when many provisions had to be carried, for elves normally rode bareback and fancy-free.

Some of the fair folk from the outpost came to see them off, and Legolas had a smile for each of them and seemed as well respected as the Prince of Mirkwood should have been. When the goodbyes were done, Legolas sprung upon Rhaia, grasping at the reins loosely. He turned to Flynn. "Shall we leave?" he asked.

Flynn nodded firmly, gently squeezing Isilyn's ribcage with her legs. Legolas turned his horse around and went ahead. Celeborn stood on the bank of the stream, and as they passed him he called gently, "Travel well!" his haunting voice ringing out through the forest.

Flynn nodded demurely to Celeborn, suddenly feeling a strange tightness in her heart, knowing that not too long in the future he, too, would surely sail west, and there was little chance she would ever see this among the highest and oldest of all elves, ever again. They turned westward along the path by which she had entered this place not two days previous. Legolas turned sharply left, on to an unfamiliar path that lead south-west and stopped some ways up the trail, allowing Flynn to catch up beside him. "Be prepared for a three day journey, if not more," he informed her. "We aim for Caras Galadhon in Lórien, and the land between here and there is not always forgiving."

Flynn suppressed a snort, remembering how deadly and unassailable this Elf had been portrayed by Tolkien. "But I have an Elf archer here to protect me, do I not?"

Legolas smiled wryly and said nothing before taking off swiftly.

"Hey!" she called after him, "wait for me!" and promptly she set off in pursuit.

Rhaia was swift, and Legolas an excellent rider, and soon he was gone from Flynn's sight. She slowed Isilyn to a walk and frowned. "Damn it," she muttered to herself in her own tongue, rounding a sharp corner that saw the path veer west again. It ran straight ahead for a good fifty metres, and on it Legolas was nowhere to be seen. She sighed, figuring he would probably accost her when she rounded the next bend, and have some comment about her slow riding and lack of experience, and so lazily she made her way along the trail, her hips rocking side-to-side with Isilyn's footsteps. The air here was warm and still. Far off and all around in the forest she could hear the chatter of birds but, save that, there was no sound. Not even the wind chased through the trees.

Then suddenly she heard the heavy, hasty crackle of hoof-beaten twigs ahead to her right, and from the forest Rhaia bolted on to the path. Flynn gasped and pulled Isilyn to a halt. Rhaia snorted, and slowly she approached. Her rider was gone but her load was still attached. Her reins hung forebodingly limp. Flynn looked about nervously for any sign of Legolas, or an assailant perhaps, or at least some explanation of where he was and why his horse had fled, but she saw nothing. The whole scene reeked of her encounter in the north only days previous, and she could barely breathe for terror.

Flynn hastily reached for Rhaia's reins, coiling the soft leather around her fingers. She urged Isilyn forward ever so slowly, keeping Rhaia in step beside them, and turning her head this way and that for any sign of the missing Elf. Slow minutes and footsteps passed and still neither sound nor sight of Legolas gave Flynn any comfort. Fear steadily crept upon her, not helped by the eerie silence of the forest or the sudden darkening as the sun disappeared behind a cloud overhead. The hair on the back of her neck stood and she shivered. The leaves of the trees seemed to whisper, mocking her and her fear and her inability to keep up with her travelling companion – who now, it seemed, she had lost, and whose fate was uncertain.

A faint noise caused her to snap her head to the right. Tumbling from behind a tree on the path up ahead was an unassuming little stone that came to a standstill dead in the centre of the trail. Flynn almost did not dare breathe. As noiselessly as she could, she dismounted Isilyn and took a few tentative steps forward. As she drew close to the stone she crouched down on one knee to inspect it. It looked like any ordinary rock that might roll out of the woods. But rocks did not just tumble along of their own accord. Someone – or something – had cast it out. She peered into the forest from where it appeared to originate. The dark density made it difficult to discern anything, but as far as she could see there was still just eerie nothingness.

Flynn cautiously moved to stand up. But suddenly a force impacted her left side and knocked her from her feet and all the wind was knocked from her body. She fell on to her back with a strangled scream, arms flailing, her hair in her eyes A strong body pinned hers down firmly and instantly Flynn attempted to kick up at it, her senses flooding her with the memory of those filthy men in Eryn Lasgalen, and her heart screamed under the pressure of its wild beating. She bucked and squirmed, but whatever this creature was had its legs planted firmly in the ground and was sitting on her while she grunted loudly in another effort to twist from the grip of the hands pinning her arms down. What on earth was it?

Then it registered to her. The hands holding her upper arms out from her body were not clawing at her, they were not rough, they were not squeezing or pinching or hurting her, and nor was she actually being attacked. Flynn stopped struggling and heard very soft, repressed chuckling. She snapped her eyes open, screwing up her face as hair brushed her eyes. One of the hands apprehending her let go of its grip and gently brushed the hair back from her face. Menacingly she narrowed her eyes at those above her.

"You... " she growled from low in her throat. "You... you... horrible, horrible man! You oaf!" Flynn contorted and pushed Legolas off her. She stood up hastily, brushing leaves from her clothes. He jumped to his feet, laughing to himself, and strolled over to Rhaia, leaning casually against her. Legolas scratched the horse's ears and commended her on a job well done. Flynn grappled with the tangles she had made in her hair trying to pull leaves from it, then stormed up to Legolas and whacked him on the arm.

"_Ai!_" he exclaimed, rubbing the spot where she hit him. "That hurt."

"It was meant to! You scared the life out of me! I thought you had been attacked – I thought_ I _was being attacked!"

His face softened a little and he placed his hands on her arms. "I am sorry. I did not know you would react so. It was just a little fun."

Flynn ground her teeth together then held her arms up for him to see, the long sleeves of her elven tunic falling down to her elbows. "Do you see these marks, Legolas?" she hissed. "Do you know how I got them?" A frown marred Legolas's face as his eyes fell on the angry red scratches on her arms. Flynn spat, "Just a few days ago I was attacked in this – this _wretched forest, _by some Woodsmen. They hit me, and they dragged me away, and I thought that I would die at the hands of those vile beasts!"

Legolas's eyes grew wide and he reached carefully for her arms, and she winced though she felt no pain as he turned one of her forearms over in his hands, his thumb tracing the scratches he found. "I did not know," he said softly, looking into her face.

Flynn clenched her jaw, fighting back the tears that threatened when she thought of the attack. "I do not know what would have happened if Ellos had not saved me," she said, her voice cracking.

Legolas's head was bent low, running his fingers over her other arm, inspecting the damage, but he looked up suddenly. "Ellos was there. And he saved you?" There was a strange crease in his brow that Flynn almost mistook for suspicion, but she strongly suspected that Legolas's disdain for Ellos ran so deep he could not even appreciate the supposed half-Elf's bravery.

"Yes," Flynn affirmed proudly, slowly drawing her arms from Legolas's grip, suppressing the shivers running over her skin in the places the Elf had touched her. "I lost him in the wood, and that is when I was attacked, but he found me and shot the men before it was too late."

The Elf straightened slowly. "Is this so?" he asked softly with interest.

Flynn narrowed her eyes unwittingly, regarding Legolas with curious suspicion. "Why would I lie?"

Flynn thought she perceived a tiny breath of exasperation escape Legolas's nostrils before he said, "I do not think that you would." He stared at her for a moment and she could not read his face, and he said, "I see now that there are more reasons you should have such feelings as you have for him. You feel you owe your life to him."

"No. It is the past now. But I cannot forget what happened that day."

The Elf's face softened. "Indeed," he agreed. "I cannot apologise enough for scaring you so, my lady. But please know that you have no reason to fear attack. I will not fail to protect you or myself on this journey." He grinned slowly. "You are right about the skill of the Elf archers. It is not easy to be rid of me."

Flynn sighed, unable to stay mad at him when he broke out that smile and showed his immaculate teeth. "Tell me about it," she muttered, though the phrase did not translate well into Sindarin. She rolled her sleeves back down in a businesslike manner and unsuccessfully bit back a smile as she said, "Luckily for you, I am still in a forgiving mood – though if you give yourself another reason to apologise to me anytime soon, we will indeed have a problem."

Legolas chuckled, and Flynn walked around to Isilyn and cursed about his antics a few times before mounting the horse. Legolas was already upon his horse, and a few feet ahead. "You forget that I can hear that," he called back to her.

"I know you can," she replied, sidling up beside him.

"Oh, Flynn," he sighed. "Please do not despise me."

She snorted. "Legolas," she said, liking the way the last of his name hissed off her tongue, "I never could."

- - - - -

Travelling with Legolas was a lot more interesting than blindly following Ellos about the countryside. Legolas was easy company and Flynn could ask him unrestrained questions about the land's history since the war, where her knowledge all but ended. She was curious to hear from Legolas's own mouth the mythology of his people, and she found there was much to the story of this place that Tolkien had not written; details here and there and speculation and rumour that had grown over the centuries, each time a new person recounted the history. On occasion Legolas's stories were told in song, and his voice was free and lilting and made her yearn to hear more.

Flynn asked him, on the first afternoon when the sky was fair and dotted by clouds, the whereabouts of his home, genuinely curious as to how Ithilien fared now that Prince Faramir of Ithilien would be two decades since buried. Perhaps she would even glean the name of Faramir's mysteriously unnamed son.

"I make my home in fair Ithilien, in the far south, where I have begun my own colony with folk of my father's realm," Legolas answered. "They have rebuilt the land, under my instructions and those of the late Prince Faramir, who was interred some years ago. We have worked hard to restore its beauty and erase that dark shadow of Mordor under which it dwelled for so long." He looked wistful for a moment as he said, "We have wrought a fair land."

Flynn pressed him to tell her more about the beauty of the realm, hearing the joy in his voice when he spoke of it, and he described the graceful architecture of his home and the brightness of its citizens, whose spirits were lifted by this new land which did not remind them of their dwindling time, the way every other elven stronghold did.

Flynn could see a proud fondness in his eye, and the conversation meandered to his travels of the last century, and her heart leapt to hear him speak of his journey with Gimli, his dear dwarven friend, to the dark forests and glimmering caves of Middle-earth. She could see that, despite the typical arrogance of all elves, his heart was soft for his friends, and he loved to talk of them.

Late on the second day they finally emerged from the wood and came to stop at dusk on the edge of the Vales of Anduin, setting up a small fire at the height of a gently sloping hill framed on the north-western side by a massing of stone that looked a great deal like granite. Legolas surreptitiously nudged the horses away from the fire Flynn attempted to build. It was a safety measure; with the way that Flynn threw all and sundry on to a fire, it was best to keep valuables away from the rush of sparks and flames.

Legolas watched the red and orange flurry from the corner of his eye as he fed the horses. As he quietly cautioned them against wandering too close to Flynn he made a mistake in not speaking quietly enough, and Flynn, who had grown accustomed to listening out for every word uttered by these elves she always seemed to end up stuck with as her sole protectors in this wild land, heard his comment clearly.

Flynn snapped a long twig in half and tossed it carelessly on to the fire whilst sweetly singing out, "I heard that!"

Legolas rose from his crouching position at the horses' feet, off to her left, and turned to face her, his expression deadpan yet disturbingly invasive – as always. His brow rose so slightly that it was barely noticeable, but Flynn caught it. She propped up an eyebrow at him in response and smirked.

"If I am so bad at it, then you build the fire," she said, gesturing at the spiral of smoke and planting a hand on her hip.

"You have already done so. What use would I be now?" Legolas kept a straight face, but she heard the mirth in his tone.

Flynn sat down heavily and crossed her legs. "Well then, cease with your complaining if you will do nothing about it." She smiled in a self-satisfied fashion, thinking she had shut him up. Grabbing a stick from the pile beside her she poked at the kindling in the fire. Struck with thoughts of food, she quickly stood again and dug from the horse's packs the bread and cheese the elves had sent with them. Legolas watched her, arms folded over his chest, gripping his bow in a pose that was second nature. Flynn fished in her pack for her knife, found it, and went to work preparing their food, laying cheese on to rough slices of the bread. Momentarily she wondered when she had last spent this long subsisting on such basic food, and how vitamin-deprived she would become if she did not come across some leafy greens soon.

As the fire made slow work of her culinary efforts, she watched Legolas. All was silent but for the crackle of the flames. He was dressed differently from the fine silver raiment he had clad when wandering about the outpost. His travelling clothes, it seemed, were far more practical. He still wore his grey breeches, but now a grey tunic, muted green suede jerkin, and dark leather wrist gauntlets replaced his former attire. Flynn wondered if she was in fact casting eyes upon the very same garb as described by Tolkien when he gave Legolas his very first mention; _"There was also a strange Elf clad in green and brown, Legolas, a messenger from his father, Thranduil, the King of the Elves of Northern Mirkwood."_

Flynn screwed up her face at the thought that a person as humble and grounded as Legolas could be royalty of any description. At that moment he turned around, and glanced at Flynn, then at the fire, and then raised an eyebrow. She wrinkled her face in questioning, and he looked pointedly at the fire again and back at her. Following his eyes to the blaze, Flynn cursed; her primitive food, to which she had so lovingly tended, was turning a deterring shade of black. She cursed again and reached for a stick, which she used to extract the bread from the fire. Legolas came to sit beside her, legs folded, ever poised.

Flynn slumped forward and groaned. "I am sorry, this is not fit for eating. There is still some lembas in the bag somewhere, if you are really hungry. I am afraid my cooking is finished for tonight."

Legolas frowned and softly said, "You can always ask for assistance, Flynn. I _am _personally capable of food preparation, you know. I have been feeding myself for longer than your last ten generations of ancestors have been in Middle-earth. And in elven custom it is the men who chiefly do the cooking."

Her last ten ancestors certainly hadn't been in Middle-earth, and furthermore she was much more aware of the elven customs than he could even dream – but she was not about to correct him on either point. Flynn sighed. "Do not humour me. I can cook, you know."

Legolas cocked his head to one side. "Is something the matter?"

Flynn shrugged. "Despite my travels, I think I am still not accustomed to living like this. It feels very... intense."

Legolas's fair face displayed his lack of full comprehension. "Do you mean that you find it difficult to cope out in wild lands such as these?" he asked.

Flynn sat up. "Yes," she said quickly, untruthfully. How could she explain that, while she had a good amount of experience living out in the open, she was lost when it came to surviving in a land that was, despite all her reading, totally foreign to her, and conversing with foreign races in a foreign tongue?

Legolas reached for a slice of bread. "You are too harsh with yourself," he said, holding it up for inspection. "This is not ruined at all." With that he took a bite, at which Flynn smiled. She retrieved another slice in turn and munched on it with him, noticing that even the simple act of chewing was an art for Legolas. He hardly made a sound, and never spilled a crumb. They sighed simultaneously as they chewed. Flynn laughed softly and Legolas smiled. Flynn felt an unexpected plop of rain on her nose, and cast her head skyward, grimacing at Legolas, whose face remained expressionless but for the twinkle in his eye. More droplets fell upon them.

"You knew this would happen, did you not? That is why you were grinning when you were sniffing the air before," Flynn accused lightly.

Legolas raised his eyebrows slowly. "Perhaps. An Elf smells many things."

"I am sure that you do! But I am right? It seems just like you to find it funny that we are going to be wet and miserable."

Legolas smiled and shook his head. "I only found it amusing that your fire would be short lived. We may yet live another day without burns."

Flynn scoffed as he stood and moved their bags of provisions to underneath an overhanging rock close behind them. He tugged at Rhaia and Isilyn's reins to lead them away from the open, closer to what meagre protection the rocks could offer to animals of their size. Legolas then looked expectantly at Flynn, who had been watching him.

"What?" she queried. The rain was increasing, and despite how uncomfortable she knew she would be, she felt strangely glad of the opportunity for a shower of sorts. Every time the Elf was close by her she winced on the inside, wondering just how strongly she must reek to his keen senses; all horse sweat and leather and dirt.

Legolas gestured to the rock outcropping. "We can take shelter under here." He strode to her and cast his hand out, his palm upturned. Flynn grasped his hand and ignored the shiver that racketed down her spine, and let him help her to her feet. Once standing, she brushed the dirt from her clothes and followed Legolas under the rock. There was enough room for them both to sit between the packs, Flynn's arms hugging her knees, Legolas sitting upright and cross-legged. The rain rose quickly from light spatter to heavy torrents, and Flynn shivered as frigid gusts of rain-cooled air assaulted them. Legolas took his cloak and wrapped it around Flynn and himself. She thanked him through chattering teeth and gazed out at the rain, wondering what a sight they must have made – an elegant Elf and, she was certain, a mangy-looking Mortal huddling dejectedly under a rock.

Legolas's body heat confined within the cloak helped to warm Flynn and she nudged closer to him instinctively against the cold, inhaling sharply as another gust of icy wind penetrated her clothes. Legolas responded by wrapping a protective arm around her and squeezing her shoulder. His face wore a tiny, pensive frown. "The nature of mortal emotions is peculiar," he suddenly said softly.

Flynn frowned at his strange and unexpected comment, turning it over in her head. "What makes you think of this?"

"You are still melancholy," the Elf answered.

Flynn stared out at the rain. "Do you think Ellos still weighs on my mind?" she asked without looking at Legolas.

"That would prove a good example."

Flynn sighed. "Well, I guess you are not mortal, so of course you do not fully understand. We do not always know how to deal with our emotions. _You _may, but we certainly do not," she explained.

Legolas seemed to turn this over, and in a moment suggested, "I think, if it is true that there is Man and Elf blood in him, Ellos should understand this more than I do."

Flynn snorted. "I doubt that. He did not seem to consider how myself or anyone else might feel if he simply left. I will admit that you were right about him, though I do not know just how much you profess to know." She looked at Legolas and considered the wealth of his knowledge and felt suddenly that she deserved to know more about the quiet and brooding half-Elf. "Tell me more about Ellos's past, Legolas," she said.

"That is a subject I know little more about," he replied, "but I will tell you what I can." Legolas took a breath and began. "You already know that Ellos is the son of Prince Alpholos of Dol Amroth." Flynn nodded, but she still didn't recognise this name.

"Remind me," she asked, "from whom does Alpholos descend?"

"If I remember correctly, Alpholos is the son of Alphros, son of Elphir, son of Imrahil, son of – shall I go on?"

"No; I know that line," Flynn nodded, finally connecting the pieces and knowing she could name quite a few other relations to that throne.

Legolas continued, "The identity of his mother is unclear. There is much doubt that she is an Elf, though he professes it so. There is rumoured Elf blood in his lineage much, much further gone in the past, but it, too, is but a rumour and a hope. I do wonder at why the house of Amroth persists with such claims."

Flynn cocked her head in interest. "You have said before that you do not think there is any Elf in him, Legolas. Why do you doubt it?"

"It is difficult for me to explain to a Mortal, Flynn, except to say that I simply feel it. Ellos feels mortal to me, and seems to have aged as such, too," Legolas answered.

"Then you accuse him of lying when he says that he is a half-Elf?"

Legolas turned to look at her. "It is not lying if you believe it is the truth. He seems convinced of the rumours of the fair race within him, though I know that he did not know his mother, and Prince Alpholos never announced her name or anything about her at all. It is said she was an Elf-maiden who went into the West shortly after Ellos was born, but the elves feel it more likely she was simply a poor girl of Dol Amroth not fit to stand as wife of the Prince, and she was thus cast aside having borne the prince an heir."

"That is a horrible thing to do," Flynn commented, feeling pity for a poor young Gondorian boy who would never know his mother.

"Yes," Legolas agreed. "It is not a thing ever done by the elves and we do not understand it. But there you have it. That is what I know about Ellos."

Flynn sighed, ruminating over Legolas's words. What a murky past this Ellos creature had, much to match his mysterious personality and veiled intentions. She felt she was beginning to understand his strange defensiveness, and she said, "I feel pity for someone not to know his own family. I think it is amiss of us to sit here and discuss the failings of his line."

Legolas looked her in the face and did not speak at first. Then at length he said, "You are very concerned for someone who may not deserve this care you have, are you not?"

Flynn frowned. "Legolas, who are you to judge what he does or does not deserve?"

Legolas set his jaw and turned away. He was silent for a moment, an anxious look upon his face. When he finally spoke, it was soft, barely discernible above the din of the rain. "I simply believe –" he began, then paused, sighed lightly, and continued; "I believe that your energy and your care and concern are too valuable to be wasted where they may not be appreciated."

Legolas held her eyes. The moment seemed still. Flynn gazed down at her rain-soaked feet. 'Valuable'. There was a word she had not heard used to describe herself in a long time. "I would not say my concern is worth much," she murmured, her face between her drawn-up knees, and after a brief period of thought, she added, "So nothing is wasted."

Legolas said, "That is another mortal trait I may never understand."

"Which?" Flynn asked, blinking.

"Your inability to see yourselves as you are. Men are fraught with insecure notions of themselves – you doubt your very being."

Flynn smiled in a defeated concession. "It is what we are always taught," she said softly. "Really loving yourself is odd, and so is belief in yourself and your abilities, and knowing your strengths and weaknesses too well, and so on."

"It all seems so senseless to me," Legolas opined.

Flynn shrugged. "It is. But it is probably what keeps us going; thinking we will never achieve that perfection. It keeps you moving, reaching for it."

"But is that not empty?" Legolas asked. "Why continue when you know you will never reach this perfection you expect, because it does not exist?"

Flynn chuckled as a clear thought struck her. "I suppose, Legolas, it is important to remember that we _know _we will die someday. We can do stupid, senseless things, because it will not matter in the end, will it? And maybe you cannot do that because you might have to live with your regrets and your guilt forever."

"Yet we may not. Immortal does not mean invincible, Flynn. I could die as easily as you could," Legolas said.

Flynn grinned. "Not _quite_ as easily," she said, and he smiled in return. "But perhaps you elves fill your lives with meaningful things because they may forever be a part of you to remember. Mortals, on the other hand... We can afford to be foolish and ridiculous."

"Men are strange," he murmured.

"Women, too," Flynn corrected. "And yes, we are." She gazed ahead to the water on the rocks and the earth, noticing the rain had lightened, and the night had darkened. She rocked forward and peered out from beneath the rock outcrop and saw clear stars in the sky. Suddenly she felt impulsive. "For example," she said, "We do foolish things like this!" She darted out from their shelter, drawing the cloak with her, and out in the rain she fastened the cloak about her neck, and began to spin in wide, free circles. The cloak flew about her dramatically and she threw out her arms, whooping with glee and opening her mouth to the sky.

- - - - -

Legolas watched in wonder as his companion's feet slapped heavy patterns in the ground, sending sprays of water in all directions. Flynn smiled widely as the fresh rain coursed down her face, dancing peculiarly, laughing to herself. And – was it – she was singing? He stood slowly, unaware of the small smile begging at his lips, and listened intently over the beating of water against the earth, his keen hearing separating the sounds into their various frequencies and picking out only what he wanted to hear. The song was familiar, though it came to Legolas in bits and pieces. And then all of the sudden the identity of the song occurred to him, and the melody and lyrics filtered through clearly.

"_Tinúviel was dancing there" _she sang.  
"_To music of a pipe unseen  
And light of stars was in her hair,  
And in her raiment glimmering."_

Legolas parted his lips, about to ask however and wherever she had learned this song so rarely shared between Elf and man, but at that very moment a glint of light in a copse of trees some distance ahead, off to Flynn's right, caught his attention. He centred all his awareness on it, shielding his eyes from the rain with a slender hand. Flynn's spinning slowed and as she caught sight of Legolas's tense stance and wide eyes, she ceased whirling. "What is the matter?" she asked.

Legolas's gaze did not waver as he replied with a slow, "Ssshh."

Flynn bit her lip and remained silent, and Legolas slowly drew an arrow from between the quiver's familiar and reassuring weight between his shoulder blades. The rain was ceasing. Flynn watched, frozen, and his protective instincts kicked in. He took a measured step back into the black shadow of a cluster of rocks, feeling the shadows wrap around him and conceal him, and he whispered, "Get under cover now. Quickly."

Flynn dashed back under their rocky shelter and as she did so, a silver glint caught in the corner of Legolas's eye, and he pulled all his attention to it and loosed an arrow. It sung in the air, and then there was a cracking sound in the distance, then silence but for the light patter of rain. Legolas drew another arrow, standing in anticipation of another movement or sound at which to aim, but none came. Flynn peered out at him and he let his eyes dart to her momentarily, and he was caught suddenly off guard by the worried furrow in her brow, her pose so catlike and tense, and his fibres filled with the instinct to keep her safe. But the thought was short-lived, however, as a foreign male voice sounded from the trees. "Elf-friend!" it called, "I come not with fell purpose!"

Flynn crawled out from her defensive position. The rain had stopped. Legolas lowered his bow, but held an arm out in front of Flynn when she inched up behind him in curiosity, barring her from going any further. If he had to tie her up in her own clothing and sling her over the back of his horse to keep her out of trouble, he would, and he knew the strength in his arm told her so. "Identify yourself," Legolas demanded of the stranger.

A figure stepped from the shadows of the trees at the foot of the decline ahead of them. In the dark, his brown clothes and long, dark hair suggested that he was nothing less than an Elf; indeed, Legolas could feel the kindred spirit within him, but he did not entirely trust it. The Elf held a bow in one hand, a broken arrow in the other. "I am Orindië of Lórien," the stranger announced. "And who are you?"

Legolas set a steely gaze against this intruder, and when he spoke, his shortness matched his gaze. "I am Legolas, Lord of Ithilien and son of King Thranduil of Mirkwood." He was usually loathe to use his full title, hating that people treated him strangely when they knew he was an Elf prince, but in this case he felt it necessary that this stranger know who he was dealing with. There was a sharp current in his energy that Legolas just did not like, and, worst of all, a strange scent on him that Legolas knew all too well.

Flynn quickly offered; "And I am Flynn."

Legolas shot a cautionary look at her when she spoke, before turning back to Orindië. "What business have you here?"

Orindië's eyes moved from Legolas to Flynn and back again, and then he responded, "I am midway between businesses. I have been in Lothlórien a while, and now I make to serve Lord Celeborn in East Lórien." His voice carried the slow, droning arrogance of Lórien but he was no figure of authority, Legolas could tell. Orindië cast his eyes up and down Legolas's form in a way the Mirkwood Elf found altogether unsettling, and said, "Of your business in these parts, I am curious."

"We just came from that outpost," Flynn told him.

"We seek the healer Cilien, who dwells near to Cerin Amroth," Legolas took over, wishing Flynn would keep quiet, for he wanted to offer Orindië no more than this.

A peculiar recognition flashed in Orindië's blue eyes, and he tilted his head a little. "Now I know why you seemed familiar to me when I saw you from yonder," he said. "You have travelled through Mirkwood with the healer Cilien before, have you not? For I believe I recall your face from long ago. Many hundreds of summers, I do think."

"Yes," Legolas replied, poker-faced. "I seek now her skills for an ill horse in Lord Celeborn's care."

"You will not find Cilien where you seek her," Orindië said, haughtiness carrying in the certainty of his tone.

"Why?" Flynn interjected.

Orindië cast his eyes over her, an action that made Legolas suddenly irritated. "The healer Cilien is with those who remain in Caras Galadhon," he said. "She has dwelled there for many a year now."

Legolas narrowed his eyes, suspicious of the dark-haired Elf. "This is news to us," he responded.

Orindië shifted his attention back to the Elf. "It should be. Cilien has no reason to send news to you, does she?"

Legolas frowned, displeased with Orindië's tone. He seemed to mock them and all they did not know. "No. She does not," Legolas answered, feeling he should answer no more of this Elf's questions.

Orindië cocked an eyebrow and drew a breath. "I must go now," he announced abruptly. He gave them no time to blink before he moved past Legolas, who spun as Orindië passed him.

"Wait," Legolas commanded levelly. Orindië halted but did not turn. "Why did you address me as Elf kind before you had yet fully seen me?" Legolas quizzed.

Orindië still did not turn, but held up the broken arrow. "A slender arrow split my own with precision," he answered. "And only an Elf would have such skill."

Legolas did not reply, and after a moment, Orindië continued walking, soon disappearing into the darkness. Legolas turned back to Flynn.

"We make for Caras Galadhon, then," he said, relieved that the trip would be shorter, though he was not certain he trusted Orindië, and he was certain he knew why.

Flynn held Legolas's eyes for a moment silently. She cocked her head slightly. "He was very strange, was he not?"

Legolas squatted on the ground, gingerly touching the dirt where Orindië had left faint footprints. Softly, he said, "There _was_ something untoward about him, yes. And a scent on him was familiar to me, something that calls on memories of long ago. He tells the truth. He has been in Lothlórien."

Flynn stood above Legolas. "You have met him before, perhaps?"

Legolas looked up at her quickly – a sideways glance – then back at the earth. "No. I have not met him," he replied. "Yet the trace of an old friend once dear to me lingers on him," he added, remembering the face behind that scent, seeing her feet dancing beneath the trees of Mirkwood when once they had dwelled there, hearing her voice gaily singing. But that was before she had changed, before she had become more powerful than she should have been, and lost the joyful spark that Legolas so adored. But still his blood boiled. Orindië, the Lórien Elf, reeked of her.

Flynn lowered herself to her knees now and leaned back on her haunches. "Someone once dear to you – you are not friends anymore?" she asked carefully.

Legolas smiled a little; a dull smile that drew upon his recollections. "We have not cast eyes upon one another for many years passed," he said. "I am afraid I know my friend no longer."

"That is sad."

Legolas looked at her, glad of her kind concern but not needful of it. He felt the pull of memories centuries gone, and nodded in acknowledgement slowly, then rose and returned to their shelter under the rocks and waited for Flynn, watching slow rivulets of water trickling down the stone and catching in her hair, the droplets glistening like little crystals. She crossed to him and sat down, drawing the drenched cloak about her and shaking water from the unruly mane he found inexplicably fascinating, all inconsistent hues and incongruous angles. Legolas folded his arms, uneasy now, wary of their visitor, but it did not escape his notice when Flynn began to shake, her teeth chattering conspicuously, and he silently berated himself for not thinking of her warmth, his own body unsusceptible to the cold. "You cannot stay in those clothes," he said. "You will fall ill."

Flynn shrugged. "I do not have anything clean to wear." She bit her lip.

"I cannot let you suffer," Legolas responded, quickly going to a pack Celeborn had sent with him, and producing from it a bundle wrapped in a soft grey cloth. Deftly his fingers worked the knot loose and he unfolded the square of cloth on his knee, revealing the fine weave of the tunic the elves had let her borrow, now folded neatly, and underneath it, the green skirt she had worn days before.

"Celeborn sent these with us, for you, though he asked for them to be worn only when absolutely necessary. He asked for me to tell you he thought your own clothing was wonderfully peculiar."

Flynn snorted and glanced down at herself. "Is that so?"

Legolas nodded, before lifting the elven clothes and proffering them to Flynn. "You should put these on before you catch a chill."

Flynn unclasped the brooch at her throat and shook the cloak free. Legolas watched; her loose curls shone with flicks of water as droplets fell in shivers to her shoulders. She reached for the bundle in his hand and began to unfold the blouse, then paused and looked at him.

"Legolas?"

"Yes?"

She rolled her eyes briefly. "Are you going to sit here and watch me undress?"

"Oh!" he exclaimed, and then moved to stand. "I will keep watch here. My back will be your guardian until you permit me turn around." He turned out to hill ahead of them and stood with his head up, listening to the night, trying hard not to focus on the strange sounds of her garments coming loose, the fabric sliding over her skin, fastenings popping and clicking, stripping her bare, her skin free in the night air... He was shaken when he heard her voice suddenly.

"You can turn now," she permitted.

Legolas's head came around first, and he regarded her once again in the Elf garb, as the rest of his body swivelled. Flynn did look so very different when she did not wear those strange breeches she called 'cords'. "Are you more comfortable?" he asked.

Flynn nodded. "Much. Thank you."

Legolas glanced past her and gestured to the cloak on the ground. "That will not keep you warm tonight."

Flynn half-turned and took in the object of his gesture. "I guess not," she replied. "But I will endure it. Come on. We should get some sleep." She had almost turned back to him when she stopped and chuckled. "No, _I _will get some sleep; you will just pretend to." Dropping to the ground she began to unroll her bedroll. Legolas joined her on the ground, unfolding a thick blanket for her.

"I do not _pretend_ to sleep," he said to her. "I simply do not sleep in your fashion. And it is much easier to travel when you do not have to account for sleeping provisions."

Flynn flopped down, rolling on her side and tugging the blanket from Legolas's still hands. "I know," she said, and he watched as she covered herself and closed her eyes. She did not see Legolas's small smile as her face relaxed, nor did she see it turn to a concerned frown as another spate of shivers assaulted her. She drew the blanket closer and he climbed over her and sat down on the mat beside her head, stretching his long legs out. "Here," he said softly, "I will stay here to help you warm."

Legolas smiled unwittingly to himself as Flynn nestled against him and attempted to throw some of the blanket over him with the arm she wasn't lying on. It did not work, and he gently tugged the blanket over him and leaned back against the rock wall. Her face was by his lap, but it was turned away and he could push stray strands of her hair behind her ears. Concerned for the dampness of her hair, he slowly and gently ran his fingers through it, wringing out the water, feeling each hair keenly on his skin and hearing her appreciative sigh. Legolas kept his watch all night.


	10. Accident

**10 –ACCIDENT**

The ground was damp and pungent with the scent of fresh rain while Flynn and her elven companion made short work of breakfasting. There was a dry wind in the air and Legolas muttered quietly to himself as he loaded the horses. Flynn watched with interest but said nothing, and shortly they began the ride. Their direction turned more westerly, approaching the great river Anduin, now watching the land open up in dry yellow plains of grass and scattered rock monoliths. Bare hills sprouted tussocks of wind-battered needle grass, and the sight of a tree grew rare.

They rode in silence, a northerly wind loud and persistent in their ears. The landscape was raw and prohibiting; the horses stumbled occasionally, the hills massed together, and conversation seemed out of place. They had gone far beyond the borders of the forest, beyond the safety of the elven outpost. The only realm they could reach now was Lothlórien, and the ageing woods within. There was no shelter but these low hills, in the crooks in their bases or beneath the jutting rocks. They were unprotected, and Legolas was ever watchful. Lórien and its outer lands were no longer hostile, but its inhabitants were leaving, taking the ships to the West, their Lady long since gone, their Lord otherwise occupied with the rebuilding of southern Mirkwood. There was scarcely the population now to protect the outer borders, and travellers ventured outside of the woods forewarned. The Elf was tense.

Flynn followed closely behind him though there was no chance of him disappearing out of sight on these bald fields. The hooves of the horses crunched crescents into the grass that the wind would sweep clean, and for miles Flynn would gaze awestruck at the open rolling hills that hinted at not a trace of another living soul. She trotted up beside Legolas and said, "We have not seen a single person in days."

Legolas seemed to have been under the blanket of great concentration and now it had been broken. He blinked. "You expected a village, a city?"

"No, but I do not know much of these parts," Flynn answered. She could not express that she was used to a land swarming with people, a land of forests enclosed by fences. "Remember, I am not from here, I came from –"

"Far away, yes, I remember Ellos saying so." He squinted into the distance and Flynn followed his line of sight. She could see nothing but more of the same landscape.

"Do you see something?" she asked quickly.

He looked back to her, "On the horizon, a break in the line of hills."

"What does that mean?"

"We have almost reached the cliffs near the borders of Lórien. Beyond them you will see Lothlórien wood, but first we must reach the top."

Flynn bit her lip. "How do we climb cliffs with horses?"

"With difficulty. It has never been a trouble for me, but here we are, three more than I am accustomed to." His gaze shifted back to the horizon. "I will find us a safe way down." He rode on.

- - - - -

Later they reached a point where Flynn, too, could discern the shape of a long elevation that peeled across the horizon, so wide that it became apparent there was no going around it. She glanced sidelong at Legolas. His brow was knitted as though puzzling out the geography. She broke his train of thought. "How far from Lothlórien are we?"

The Elf scratched Rhaia's neck softly. "We should reach the woods before nightfall tomorrow."

Flynn nodded and looked ahead. She had no idea of her intentions once she arrived in the golden wood, unable to see beyond the time when Legolas and the healer would return to East Lórien for the horse. Flynn expected Lothlórien wood to be unwelcoming and exclusive, with good reason for its being feared by Man and Dwarf alike. But Tolkien had written of how it had declined after its higher days, after Galadriel went into the West, and Flynn could not yet know just how much it should have changed. The great elven realms would all fade away in time, she knew, and such knowledge threw a shadow over her heart. The land's beauty was fading, and here she had arrived at its end. Flynn chewed her lower lip thoughtfully.

Legolas happened to glance at her at that moment – if elves ever just 'happened' to do anything – and his expression turned to interest. "Something troubles you," he commented.

Flynn shook from her reverie. "Hmm?"

The Elf grazed his lower lip with his thumb, "You withdraw just here," he said, demonstrating, "when you are ill at ease." He twisted his fingers back into Rhaia's reins.

"Do I?"

"You do." He smiled.

Flynn shrugged, "I did not notice. But I am not troubled," she lied. Legolas nodded. "Actually," she said, "we do have one trouble – those cliffs, see?"

They had come to the edge of a long embankment that sloped gently down through thick grass then began to run flat at the foot of the cliffs before charging back up towards the sky. These were not great mountains, but the sloping castle of jagged rock made for no less of a daunting prospect.

Low-laying trees sprouted from all angles up the incline, attaching their roots desperately to the hard ground, daring to stand vertical if only for a few feet. Along the peaks of the ridge the earth turned to grey stone, rising sharply up before appearing to flatten out like vast tables. Off to the left, at the very base of the incline, was the origin of what looked like a path, suggested by a line of neatly placed stones. It snaked up and up, around rocky crags, over flat respites, and all the way to the height of the ridge, where it indicated a pass through the peaks. A fissure in the rock, just a few feet wide, was the only door to the other side.

Flynn sighed. "The view must be splendid from up there."

A gust of wind blew a faraway whistle through the gap in the ridge.

"Happily you will get to see its magnificence for yourself," Legolas said.

Then it was time to go on; onward and upward, and hopefully over. Legolas moved ahead first, and when they reached the beginning of the stone-marked path, Legolas sprung lightly from his horse. Flynn, less gracefully, gathered her skirts about her legs and clambered with some difficulty from Isilyn's back, landing heavily on the ground, a sharp pain shooting through her heels. She winced. Legolas looked on. "It probably takes practise," Flynn said.

"It surely helps if you are an Elf," Legolas smirked.

Flynn swatted at him with a limp hand and then took Isilyn by the reins, gesturing up the hill. "Lead the way," she said. Legolas watched her momentarily before moving ahead.

The ascent was mostly trouble-free on foot. Patches where the rocks came loose proved hazardous for the horses, but Legolas was superbly calming. Flynn was simply thankful for two arms and opposable thumbs. Soon they stood at the topmost point in the path on a ledge of rock big enough for the four. It marked the entrance to the pass through the ridge. Warm wind breezed through the fissure and teased Legolas's hair, which leapt about in gusts. He leaned a few inches into the gap, his face tense with thought. He looked at Flynn. "You will go through first," he said. "Then I will pass the horses through. There is enough room on the other side for us. You must make sure they are safe."

Flynn nodded and stepped past him, his faint woodsy scent catching her as she passed. She turned towards the light at the other side and picked her way over the uneven stone floor. Steadying herself with her palms against the rough contours of the walls, she shortly found herself craning her neck out of the western opening. The air here was strangely more still but for the gust about the passage opening. Flynn stepped cautiously onto a tremendous ledge, inching forward slowly. At first she glanced upon the area about her feet; another tableau of stone roughly carved into the ridge. The edge off to her left broke away to a smaller ledge, which led in turn to a narrow path that headed underneath and zigzagged down the mountain.

Then she saw the view. The breath caught in her throat. A landscape of green rolled out flat and endless before her, cloven in a snaking line by the Great River, the Anduin, shining like yellow glass in the afternoon sun sinking orange in the distance. The land beyond was dotted by the shadowy masses of trees. Flat plains escalated into undulating, tree-patched hills, and in the far distance the shadows seemed to condense into one immense, dark shape of a grand wood that stood proud and silent. Lothlórien.

Flynn leaned back against the rock face rising up behind her and pursed her lips into a slow whistle of awe. Moments later, a responding whistle jerked her attention back towards the rock pass. She leaned around and peered down the passage. Legolas's head appeared at the other end, positioned just so that the sunset glowed over his crown in a golden orange halo. He smiled proudly and it seemed to Flynn as though she truly beheld the face of a prince. She could not help grinning back girlishly.

"Breathtaking, is it not?" Legolas called.

Flynn nodded, feeling an odd sense of calm, unsure if her eyes could behold more beauty this day. She remained transfixed as Legolas disappeared from the entrance for a moment then returned, a rein entwined in his fingers. He called to Rhaia, and Flynn heard the sound of hooves going tentatively over uneven rock. Flynn moved away from the passage, back to the ledge and the view, as Legolas sent Rhaia through. She heard him call to Isilyn, and another set of staccato footsteps joined in. Though it was but a few metres to reach this side, the horses were fearful and apprehensive, and slow.

Flynn squatted and hugged her knees, sighing appreciatively as the sun sliding down the sky cast long, amber shadows over the land. She stifled a yawn, pressing her mouth into her shoulder, and noticed, for what felt like the millionth time, how badly she needed to bathe. Grimacing she wondered how offensive the unwashed-traveller scent was turning out, especially to an Elf from whom dirt seemed to deflect in fear. Flynn shook herself, then stood in anticipation of Rhaia's appearance, and made a mental note to jump in the River Anduin as soon as she was within distance. But as she stood, two things happened.

The first; Rhaia, the proud steed of elves, reached the ledge on the northern side of the pass. At once the horse caught sight of the view, a terrible dizzying height, and suddenly reared up on hind legs, shrieking in horror, hoofs scuffling at the uneven rock and nostrils flaring, snorting hot air. Her legs shook under her immense weight, her eyes like black saucers, terrified as she bellowed and balked and made such a clamour as to awaken the dead.

The second; Flynn turned to greet Rhaia just as the horse reeled up towards the sky in so sudden a movement that her massive, heaving chest teetering upon limbs that would crash down at any second, and the eruption of sound from her bared teeth shocked Flynn so abruptly that instinct pushed her backwards. But there was nowhere for her feet to go; her feet hit thin air, her toes barely balancing on the rock. Flynn teetered momentarily on the edge of the cliff. Then she fell.

Her scream was so piercing it sliced through the wind. The orange and white light of the sunset filled her vision and velocity roared in her ears like thunder – and then it stopped abruptly. Her scream was ripped away, all the breath knocked from her body as she slammed heavily on to the rocky path below. An intense crack of pain shot up her right arm, a crushing of the wrist twisted under her body as she landed. Her head was craned awkwardly over a rock and black spots obscured her vision, her consciousness swimming.

These hurts registered momentarily, for she had only a second of respite before her momentum on impact sent her tumbling again. Off the path and beyond she fell, her legs sliding first over its edge, swinging down a sharp decline, a rock face that angled like a dam wall. Her body and gravity waged a battle, gravity's strength certain, fate rising up to meet her as quickly as the ground below would if she did not hold on. Pitching all her strength she clung to the tough sprigs of grass at the path's edge before she could fall away completely. Pain shot through her injured wrist and her grip loosened and slipped, and sharply she jolted inches downward. Rocks scraped at her skin and with great effort she clung to one jutting rock. It cut into her palm, and tears sprung to her eyes.

Flynn craned her neck and heard the animal's shrieking die down, and a second later a shower of gravel sprinkled her as Legolas's feet scuffled to the rock ledge high above. His head appeared at the edge, and his darkening eyes widened threefold seeing her battered body lying precariously against the steep rock face. Flynn's eyes welled with tears as she looked up at him, and she tried to speak but it came out as a pitiful choking sound. In an instant he was on his feet.

Legolas threw his bow down and sprinted across the ledge and down where it dropped to the path, and down the rocks he sprung easily, negotiating crags with effortless speed. He followed the path as it ran beneath the rock ledge and stopped at the place where Flynn had first landed. Legolas dropped to his knees and leaned out. Flynn's hand was only a foot or so below, but just beyond reach without risking them both tumbling down the cliff. The only solution was to flatten himself to the ground, and swiftly he was down, sliding forward, reaching over the edge for Flynn's hand.

"Take my hands!" Legolas urged.

"I do not have the strength," she cried weakly. One arm lay limply by her side. "My arm – it is useless!"

For a moment Legolas's face turned from fear to compassion. He held Flynn's distressed eyes in his, their sadness almost admitting defeat. Her left hand's grip weakened; she slipped a little. Legolas snapped back into action and he grunted in effort, reaching as far as he could over the rock face. He made a grab for her arm, fingers wrapping around her wrist, warm blood slipping between his fingers. Steeling himself against the ground he made an almighty heave and wrenched Flynn upwards by just one arm. She shrieked in pain and slid over rocks, making fresh work of her lacerated skin, strangling a gasp.

"Your legs," Legolas called, flexed to breaking point. "Push with your legs!"

The sound of his voice sent a pulse of adrenaline through her and Flynn threw her right arm upwards; it slammed against the wall and Legolas grabbed it without thought and vice-gripped her arm. Now braced by his strength, Flynn could fight. She took a heaving breath and contracted, pushing her knees against the wall. Legolas pulled hard, fighting gravity, Flynn's legs slipping and scrambling and gaining on the wall. Her head and shoulders crested the path above, and Legolas thrust himself under Flynn's arms, reaching down and wrapping his arms around her waist.

"When I count to three," he heaved, "Push one last time."

Flynn nodded, grunts of effort and pain issuing forth, and Legolas braced himself against the rock face. Quickly he counted to three, and with a last effort, Flynn shoved her legs against the wall, levering herself upwards as Legolas squeezed her hard and groaned as he rolled backwards and dug his knees into the ground. He levered his body up and grabbed fistfuls of Flynn's clothes as she came over the edge, and arching backwards he finally fell back gasping, a bruised, fragile body in his arms.

The air was still. Legolas relaxed his hold on Flynn and gazed at the sky above. Flynn panted, her head on his shoulder, feet still dangling just over the accursed edge. Her breathing turned slowly into quiet choking sobs; she was in no state of recovery. Legolas squeezed her in a comforting embrace, cradling the back of her head in his hand. He stroked her ruffled hair slowly as she shuddered. Legolas wriggled carefully into a sitting position, pulling Flynn gently with him. She tucked her legs under her body and sat, hunched, cowering against his chest, unaware of a scratch along her jaw bleeding on to him. The Elf gently folded her into his body, and holding her garishly reddened wrist in one hand he pressed it to his chest. There was a perturbed stare upon his face as his warm breath washed over the limp hand he clutched below his chin. In a moment he pressed Flynn's palm to his face, sighing with distress. Flynn whimpered still, little tear blots moistening the collar of his tunic.

Legolas was silent. There was nothing they could do but keep safe and ride hard until they reached Lórien. Above them, the horses whinnied. Dusk had settled.

- - - - -

Legolas carried her back up the cliff after her fall and quickly put Flynn upon his own horse to keep her safe. He took both animals by the reins and led them gingerly and slowly down. The best way down was not, in fact, by launching over the cliff edge the way Flynn had done. There was an easy path that snaked back and forth on a gentle decline until it reached the bottom. The horses were calm, but that did not change what had already happened.

Once on flat ground Legolas trickled a little of their drinking water on Flynn's arm to wash the blood away. He produced a sheath of thick fabric from his provisions and tightly wrapped it around her forearm, stemming the bleeding and holding it somewhat rigid. He removed the belt from his waist and wrapped it around her arm and over her shoulder in a makeshift sling. She moaned softly, floating in and out of awareness. The bleeding had stopped but the bone was damaged and they needed a healer soon. He mounted his horse quickly and sat behind Flynn, wrapping one arm around her limp body and setting off on a gallop as smooth as the well-trained Rhaia could afford, and Isilyn followed with a short whistle.

The flight to Lórien was hazy and full of red pain. They stopped only to eat and for short rests for the horses, as Legolas, running on adrenaline and a bite or two of lembas, seemed to have eschewed his need for food or for rest, and Flynn's stomach roiled at the thought of eating. The pain took over everything. She had battered herself plenty of times as a child, falling out of trees and tripping over toys, but those were bee-stings compared to this, and now she knew that her generation surely took the presence of nearby hospitals and existence of strong painkillers for granted. No pain had ever been this invasive.

Flynn remembered little of their crossing the river on a ferry manned by the elves; she hung limp against Legolas, her eyes fluttering, and she thought she beheld eddies in the swift flowing water, and smelled the clean, cold river. She smiled wanly, drifting into a dream of warm baths and the smell of clean linen. Legolas squeezed her close.

They reached Lórien at dusk the next day. Flynn was conscious for a short while earlier in the day, bobbing uncomfortably atop the horse as the grass washed by in a smudge of green. There was no sound but the thudding drums of eight metal-shod feet as she rested her head against his shoulder, drawing comfort from the scent of the Elf, the smell of wood smoke and greenness; a scent which would be forever imprinted on her brain as a portent of safety and protection and being truly looked out for. Legolas hardly breathed, keeping Flynn tightly pressed to him as she slept, or lolled limply atop the horse in a manner akin to sleeping but which was more a state of traumatised unconscious. She did not dream again.

- - - - -

Lórien wood began distinctly. Tough, yellow grasses had given way to a lush green variety hours ago on the plains, and now the short carpet of emerald was cut sharply by the edge of the wood, which stretched out north and south as far as could be seen. Legolas slowed the horses and stepped softly into the trees. Flynn did not stir. The wood was cold and silent. He expected Lórien guards to greet him shortly. But he pressed on, further and further into the wood, and still nobody arrived. Where were the Lothlórien elves? Had so many really disappeared? He came across the Celebrant stream, stopping for a moment to mourn a time long gone, when he had first beheld the little river as he entered these woods with an entirely different purpose. But back then the elves had been present, tracking his motley Fellowship for days.

Here, now, there was no sign of life, and now that dusk had fallen even the birds were silent. The horses crossed the water hesitantly. They drew a little closer to Caras Galadhon, the center of all activity in Lórien, and Legolas moved slowly now in a bid not to startle any elves who may be wandering around. Surely the elf maidens still took their leisure time around the perimeter; surely there were still sentry guards?

And then suddenly a figure stepped out from the shadow of a mallorn tree, an arrow drawn, and Legolas inhaled sharply and started to react, but halted, realising that with Flynn in his arms he could not even draw his bow. But the figure lowered his weapon upon recognizing Legolas's face. "Legolas!" the guard Elf exclaimed.

Legolas knew that face; relief flooded him. "Thienving!" he cried. Suddenly it was clear why he had not felt the presence of a fell foe; this Elf was a very old friend indeed.

Thienving approached with a smile, but his face fell when he regarded the slumped figure Legolas gripped tightly. Before Thienving could ask, Legolas explained, "My companion is wounded; we seek Cilien, the healer. Does she reside here still?"

"Of course; but you should know that, surely?" Thienving responded. Legolas was in too much of a hurry to discuss, and his face said as much. Thienving said, "I will take you to her," and hurried to the lone horse standing idly behind Legolas, mounting her and setting off. Legolas followed.

Thienving lead them beyond the main city, which Legolas barely gave a glance to, until they reached the base of a huge mallorn tree ringed in vines and encircled by a carved wooden staircase. Thienving called up and in a moment the healer was swiftly descending, a blur of white and gold. She reached the bottom of the staircase and beheld the Elf Prince, and a look of recognition and deep emotion crossed her face, and Legolas felt the beating of his heart fall away, never expecting to be so caught out by her after all this time. But his focus shifted as Thienving hurried to help them off the horse and up to the healer's talan. High in the trees, they lay Flynn on a bed dressed in cream-coloured blankets and helped manoeuvre her into a half-prone position.

Legolas watched with anxiety as the healer inspected Flynn's wrist, awash in black bruises, and determined it badly sprained, but not broken. She worked quickly, encasing Flynn's arm in thick gauze before securing it. The healer fastened a proper sling over Flynn's arm to replace the makeshift version fixed by Legolas. She took a bottle of amber-coloured liquid and gently dripped it into Flynn's mouth. The action seemed to sober Flynn and for a moment she appeared conscious, registering Legolas kneeling by her, holding her hand. Flynn drank from the vial offered by the healer who sat by her side. The mixture was in truth more parts alcohol than secret herbal remedy and it helped her to drop off to sleep properly, and erased much of the pain.

The healer finally sat down near Flynn on a long divan. Legolas moved to the edge of the talan closest to the tree and sat on a bench there. His tense frame refused to relax. They stared at each other. Who had changed the most in all these years?

"Your friend will fare well, I do think, after some weeks of rest," Cilien said at last.

Legolas nodded, feeling pulled to watch over Flynn, but his eyes kept straying back to the Elf who sat calmly, her warmth closer to him than it had been in centuries. "Will she awaken soon?" he asked.

"I hope for it," Cilien answered. "She should not be in much pain now, and I will make sure she is comfortable." The healer's voice was measured and calming, just as Legolas remembered. She held his eyes, and he knew she was curious. Legolas knew she would ache to know why he had stayed away from her for so long.

Legolas answered her unasked question. "I came here seeking you, Cilien, before Flynn – for that is her name – was hurt. We thought, in truth, that you dwelt nearer to Cerin Amroth, but we discovered on the way that you reside here now. We ran across a strange Elf; Orindië was his name."

"No, I do not expect you would know how long I have been here, having never sought me out in all this time," she said in a measured monotone, and slowly ran one slender hand under her hair, shaking it slowly over her shoulder. "Orindië, you say?" A tiny smile threatened at her lips. "He is a good friend."

Legolas watched her a moment. "There is a valuable horse taken very ill at the outpost near to Dol Guldur, and if you would, Lord Celeborn would very much appreciate your help, as soon as you would come," he informed her.

Cilien nodded. "Of course I shall help. But I must watch over your... friend for a night, at the least. She can remain here, of course; I will leave her with enough pain remedy to see her through the weeks of healing, but how much time can your horse spare?"

"Little, I believe. We are three days away and have spent more already."

The healer thought for a moment, her pale hair framing her face. "We must leave tomorrow, then. I will have my things packed for me and we shall set off in the morning."

Legolas nodded and sat back, and relaxed slightly as Flynn lay quietly and did not stir. The murmuring and moaning had ceased now and she seemed to slumber peacefully rather than drift unwittingly in and out of consciousness as she had done for days.

Cilien still stared at him in a way he had more than a few times found unnerving. She finally said, "It is unfortunate you have not been able to visit us here more often."

Legolas smiled a knowing smile. "Do you not mean: to visit _you?_"

Cilien looked away under the guise of monitoring Flynn.

"But we have not remained friends such as we once were," Legolas said. "Think on all the water passed under our bridge, as these mortals sometimes say."

Cilien smiled wanly, clearly not thinking of the water under the bridge so much as her own heart. "You used to enjoy yourself with me, back in the time when Eryn Lasgalen was still our beloved Mirkwood," she commented, standing and moving to the rows upon rows of glass shelving that lined the far side of the talan. Cilien's dwelling was immense and multi-tiered, mostly taken up by shelves full of hand-blown glass bottles filed with potions, remedies and tinctures of different colours and textures. There were some raised beds like plush divans, and a bulbous cauldron. The healer took up a mortar and pestle and slowly mashed the contents.

"I did, it is true," Legolas replied. "But I grow restless these years."

"I understand, Legolas." She sighed lightly. "It is simply a shame we have lost each other."

"I know this," he said, his heart and head flooding now with memories, too many of them bitter. "There is a reason you and I are not the companions we once were, and I do believe it is these same differences that separate us as friends as well. We decided – you remember? – that it is just not... meant to be."

"I did not say it was," she replied stiffly. "But it is a shame to lose someone close." Cilien put down the mortar and pestle and crossed to Flynn, placing a palm on her forehead. The bell sleeves of her white dress floated about as she moved and her hem swished across the platform. Legolas remembered this Elf well, from a time in his past long before the War of the Ring, long before he had ventured impossibly far beyond the confines of his father's realm, back when he was a different person, in a different Age.

Cilien was older than him, and was unbelievably ambitious when they were younger, and she had more than succeeded in attaining these things she wanted in her life. She was a great healer, well-known throughout the lands, but she was not loved for anything more than her abilities; she was neither kind of heart nor fair of temperament. She could be bullish and overly headstrong, and even selfish, which seemed incongruous for a person in her position. Legolas blamed his youth for seeing any spark of hope in this maiden as a potential mate. They had connected for a while, hundreds of years previous, but their passion for one another became, gradually over time, obviously weaker against the stark differences in their personalities; Legolas's fluid lifestyle and adaptable way only frustrated the stubborn Cilien. But still, he was reminded, she remained one of the most visually stunning elves he had known.

Legolas was staring at Cilien as she felt the heat of Flynn's forehead, and his eyes shifted to Flynn's peaceful face. Here, strangely, was a beautiful and shapely face to rival Cilien's sharp features. There was comely warmth to Flynn, a welcoming feeling, as though they had been friends long ago, separated by time and distance, and were only now just being re-acquainted. It did not seem to him as though they had known each other but a little while. Such relief he felt to watch her face and see her brow no longer contorted in pain. In this diffuse light, wrapped in elegant elven blankets, peaceful slumber across her countenance, she looked so fair. He shook himself mentally when Cilien's eyes darted to his face and her brow rose reprovingly. Yes, he must have looked as if in a fine and fanciful reverie. A reverie that could come to no good.

Cilien went about her dwelling, mixing liquids here and grinding herbs there, and Legolas watched Flynn and the healer in turn, saying nothing, and soon Cilien asked Legolas to leave, saying she needed to give Flynn a rudimentary bath. Flynn was filthy by elven standards, despite Legolas's best efforts to keep her clean on their journey from the cliffs. There was only so much of her he could clean without being intrusive, careful though he was.

Legolas nodded at Cilien and left quietly. Wandering the forest, he thought on his travelling companion and her state of health, not observing how grey the wood had grown and how melancholy it felt since his last visit here, on that fateful trip nearly a hundred and twenty years previous. Legolas wondered what such pain felt like to Flynn. He knew his own brand of pain, his battle injuries, his distress – but what was it like for a Mortal, for this Mortal? Did she fear injury the way elves did? For battle injury was one of the very few ways the otherwise immortal elves could die, and for that reason, choosing to participate in battle was a heavy step for an Elf to take, to risk injury when they valued life so greatly, though they were brave and valiant and strong fighters.

So did mortals take these risks lightly, knowing injury and death were unavoidable aspects of mortal life? And why did they not die of heartbreak? Legolas wished to ask her sometime, if he ever got the chance. The Elf was fortunate to have never been heartbroken, close as he had come. Ceasing contact with Cilien had been a great pain to him, yes, but did they really have hold on each other's hearts? He thought not; perhaps that was why they now both still lived, and thrived no less.

Legolas wondered suddenly if Flynn had ever been heartbroken – she appeared to be of an age where most mortals had usually suffered it. Somehow they could suffer through it and live, and it had always shocked him that this was even possible. How did they go on when their heart was rent, useless? There was so much he had yet to know about this mysterious woman and her race. As much as he liked mortals, he certainly did not fully understand them.

Legolas met with his old friend, Thienving of Mirkwood, strolling in the direction of the great city Caras Galadhon, and they walked and talked and remembered old days, before they went on to Thienving's talan where Legolas ate his first real meal in days and sat cross-legged on the floor, welcoming the chance to relax and reminisce with his friend. Later Cilien joined them, and the three chatted as old friends for a long while into the night. But often Legolas's thoughts turned to Flynn and to wondering if she would fare well, and what her fate may be, and he did not sleep that night, even in the manner of the elves.


	11. Lórien

**11 – LORIEN**

Flynn knew only two things when she finally woke: that it was dark, and that she was in a forest. She could see nothing but inky sky and endless canopy. With a slow tilt of her head she could surmise that she was high up on another talan, and was surrounded by bottles and equipment of some sort. Was this the healer's home? Flynn's arm throbbed. Nursing her arm, she reclined. The cushioning beneath her was soft. Closing her eyes again, her head swam with pain, but she felt much less like she was drowning in it than she had for days. Eyes still shut against the pain, she sensed Legolas's presence before she saw him.

"Good evening," she greeted groggily. Legolas smiled as she opened her eyes. He was clean and had changed from his grubby and bloodstained jerkin and leggings to his grey tunic again. Dark breeches were on his legs and instead of his sturdy brown travelling boots he wore soft grey slippers. In one very neat braid down his back, his long hair was bound. He stood very still. "You have slept awhile. We are in Lothlórien now." Flynn could only raise an eyebrow vaguely in an attempt to convey her understanding. "The healer has seen to you, and she assures me that you will recover," he went on softly. "How does your arm fare?"

Flynn smiled and patted the empty space on the bed. With difficulty she shifted over for him to sit. "It hurts, of course," she replied, "But it is fine. I feel quite... 'high' is the word I would use in my own language." She grinned dozily. "Your healer works magic."

"The elves do not work magic – we are simply naturally gifted in everything we do." Legolas smiled mirthfully and Flynn attempted to laugh. The Elf crossed the talan quietly and sat down by her side.

Flynn reached up with her good arm and touched his braid. It was a complicated herringbone, difficult to weave. "This is different," she commented. "Did you braid this yourself?"

"No – unfortunately I cannot yet arrange my eyes and arms to the back of my body. Give me another thousand years, perhaps." He half-smiled and said, "This is Cilien's handiwork."

Flynn had glimpsed the luminous Elf leaving the talan sometime earlier, not knowing she was the famous Cilien. An image flashed across Flynn's mind of the lady tenderly forking through Legolas's hair and fashioning it into this immaculate braid. The tightness she felt in her belly was unfamiliar and unwelcome. She did not know what to make of the image. Flynn had heard their hushed tones as she drifted off to sleep earlier, and though only fragments remained, she was certain that there was an old affection between the two elves.

Flynn dropped her hand from Legolas's hair. They sat in silence. Legolas absently tucked in the blankets around her, and then stroked her forehead and ran his hands over her hair. Flynn tingled a little and felt anaesthetised at his purposeful touch. She closed her eyes. The trees only sighed in resignation and ruffled their leaves in the breeze.

"There is something I have wished to ask you," he said at length.

Flynn opened her eyes to look at him. She felt she owed him a debt for helping her so, and she said, "Anything."

"That night, Flynn, when it was raining out on the plains, do you remember?"

She tried to nod, and he understood.

"When you were singing in the rain, you sang one of our old tales. _The Lay of Leithian_." He paused, then asked, "Where did you learn this? The elves rarely share these songs with anyone besides our kin." He regarded her now, she thought, with a note of suspicion.

Flynn could not think of a single reason to excuse her knowing the song, except for the truth, of course: that she read it in a book that described the life of Legolas and every other Elf since the very beginning of time, and she certainly wasn't going to tell him that. Finally she reluctantly said, "I can not tell you, Legolas. I am sorry. I just cannot."

"This is something else you cannot tell me about the far away place from whence you come?"

Flynn looked away. He had asked her other questions about her home, on those first few days travelling, and always she had dodged them however she could. She did not have an answer for everything, and she was an uneasy liar.

Legolas regarded her for a moment. At length he faced Flynn as best he could from his position at her side. His eyes were a deeper sapphire here in the dim shadows of Lórien. Finally he said, "I leave with Cilien tomorrow."

Flynn nodded. "Yes, you must return soon." Her heart was heavy at the thought of another short-lived companion leaving her. Despite her first impressions she was reluctant to admit that she had really taken to Legolas, and not at all in the fiery, blind way she had tumbled into Ellos's charms. Legolas was solid, tangible, real – a friend. But she could not allow herself to show him that she would miss him. It was no use, for he was leaving anyway, and her disappointment with Ellos only served to strengthen her already solid conviction that in the end, people let you down, and you can do nothing after all but accept it.

"Well... I hope the horse is well," she said.

Legolas nodded. "As for your own health, Cilien has granted that you may stay here while she is gone, and she will provide you with more remedy for the pain. She will return before too long, and will see to you herself."

Flynn bit her bottom lip. Legolas regarded her with a slight tilt of the head, and placed a hand over hers. His hand was warm on Flynn's but lacked something – some of the vibrancy and life that normally tingled at his skin's surface. Something weighed on him. He squeezed her hand very, very lightly, so that she wasn't sure if she imagined it or not.

"Will you stay here?" Legolas asked.

Flynn sighed and shrugged. "Where would I go?" she said. "Until this heals," she added, holding up her injured arm, "I will have to stay." He nodded. "Besides," Flynn added. "I cannot really travel alone, and I seem to befriend the least suitable people." She grinned mischievously. He smiled back, but it was fleeting. He lingered at her side a moment longer and then stood to leave. Flynn said nothing as he disappeared down the staircase.

Melancholia threatened to envelope Flynn suddenly. Legolas would go, and he would go so very soon. What exactly did she think she would do here? How many more citizens of Middle-earth was she destined to meet before she could call one a friend, and spend some time, and get to know them, and trust they would stay around? So what of her now?

Flynn was not sure how long her welcome in Lórien extended, or if she would want to stay once she was up and about. She had an image in her mind that this wood would be a sombre place, far from its former beauty, a shadow of a city rather than the great realm it once was. Feeling a wave of sadness roll over her, she buried her face in a pillow, sighing back the urge to cry. She drifted fitfully in and out of sleep, remembering in the morning without clarity the low and sombre song of mourning that penetrated her dreams. It was the last time Legolas would have to bear the excruciating pain of singing a lament for the great king, and the last time the elves would ever hope for their time in Middle-earth not to end. Like every other elven stronghold after the War, Lothlórien wood never fully recovered from the grief.

- - - - -

When she woke it was early morning and clear light filtered down through the canopy. Someone was moving about the talan, gathering things here and there. Flynn blinked repeatedly, forcing her eyes to focus. The figure was a woman, tall and slender with impossibly long hair half swept back from her face in a blonde weave, revealing pointed ears. Flynn wondered if the elves knew any hairstyle other than braids. The Elf lady wore a mostly plain white dress in the usual elegant elven style; voluminous sleeves and skirts, low waist, subtle shimmering beadwork. The Elf turned, Flynn's eyes on her. "You awaken," she said with a slow smile. "I am Cilien, your healer. It is good to see you alert."

"Thank you," Flynn replied, watching the healer collect bottles and vials from around the talan. She moved deceptively quickly, seeming to float, barefoot, upon the wooden surface. In this pale light she was more beautiful than any Elf Flynn had seen, excluding only Legolas. And Legolas had loved this Elf? She certainly suspected so. But why on earth would he give her up? It shocked Flynn's confidence in an unexpected way, to think that the eyes he cast upon Flynn when he smiled his disarming smile were the same eyes that had beheld this beauty. How lustre-less and ungainly the mortal women must seem to the elves. The Elf bent and tucked her medicines into a satchel. "When do you leave?" Flynn asked.

"As soon as we are ready, which I expect will be soon," Cilien replied, straightening and casting her eyes about as if checking for forgotten oddments. "I have some things for you, Flynn," she added, moving to Flynn's bedside and dropping to her knees. She picked up a flask about the size of a standard wine bottle from a low table beside the bed. "This is to numb the pain," she explained, holding it for Flynn to see. "You drank some last night; perhaps you do not remember. You will most certainly need this for a while, as your arm will take weeks to heal. But do not drink it all the time; three mouthfuls a day should be enough. Too much will have the unpleasant effect of dizziness, and you may lose some control of your movements."

"It sounds wonderful," Flynn said.

Cilien laughed softly and moved on to another vial on the table by the bed. "This is something quite special," she explained. "It is an ancient recipe which speeds up the healing process when taken once every day, as a drop on the tongue."

"It really works?"

"Yes," Cilien replied, "but all good things have their downside; it tastes rather vile." Flynn winced at the idea and Cilien smiled again. "Still, no matter how much of this you take – or do not take, by the look on your face – I will need to check your arm in a few weeks. Can you dwell here for a time?"

Flynn had no idea, but that wasn't much of a satisfactory answer. "I can stay, but I do not want to feel that I am a burden on your people."

Cilien rose. "Our people have been fading from Lórien, and I feel the weight of it is pressing on their hearts of late. They will surely appreciate someone new."

"Well then it is settled," Flynn said with a weak smile. "I will stay." She was sure that the elves would not care whether she was there or not. She sighed softly, and Cilien, whose back was to her, halted visibly just for the tiniest moment, as though she might say something, but thought better of it. Flynn really had to remember how keen their hearing was.

Cilien shouldered her medicine bag, said a quick goodbye, and disappeared down the stairs. Moments later Legolas appeared atop the talan and crossed it to where Flynn lay. He looked down at her.

Legolas seemed as if he would speak but Flynn quickly said, "So this is farewell, or... " She did not know what to say

He looked down and said softly, "Farewell." Legolas's face was sombre, and in the soft morning light his downcast mouth was sorrowfully beautiful, almost rivalling his smile.

Flynn held his stare for a moment, knowing this day would be their last in each other's company. Finally she reached up and took his limply hanging hand and squeezed.

"I must see you well again," he said.

Flynn glanced away and said, "You must do what your duties ask of you." She didn't really mean this, and under his penetrating glare, after a silence, she was sure he knew.

"I am free to do as I will," he said. "And if I return, Flynn, I will see that you are healed."

The sound of fair voices chattering and horses snorting below could be heard while saddles were fastened so packs and equipment could be attached. "I must go," Legolas said, glancing hastily back at the stair.

Flynn nodded and let go of his hand. Legolas bent slowly and softly kissed her on the forehead, his lips warm. He drew away very slowly. For a moment his face lingered near hers and in his eyes was a fleeting glimpse of something unfamiliar; was it sorrow, or pain, or perhaps just Flynn's imagination? Because what could one really see in the deep blue-grey of those ancient eyes?

But in a moment it was gone, and so was Legolas, disappearing down the spiral stairs. His heady scent went with him, and Flynn felt a sadness welling up, and "Farewell!" she called. Just as he reached the ground Legolas paused just for an imperceptible moment, but continued, and soon he was upon his horse, and then he was gone.

The forest was quiet.

- - - - -

She would stay composed. As composed as she could be, with one useless arm and her bloodstream full of elven herbal painkiller. She wondered what they made it from. In centuries past, at home, she knew various methods had been used – gases and vapours, ice, alcohol, a blunt whack about the head, even opiates and cocaine – but what were the elves using? Elven technology piqued her curiosity. Could they be using something similar, a plant derivative? Though Flynn had stymied her chances of working in medicine, it had not stopped her poring over books as a child and relishing the gory illustrations of anatomy. Perhaps she could use her convalescence to learn a little of this medicine, surely more rudimentary and more easily-learned than that of home?

Carefully she rolled on to her good side, keeping her strapped arm close against her chest, and awkwardly sat up with a groan. She stopped for a moment and ran her good hand through her hair, matted now from laying against the pillow for so long. As she adjusted to being upright again, she looked around, beyond the platform and into the many dwellings around her. Everywhere in the pale morning light, she could see tiny winking candles and torches, strategically illuminating the many talans of Caras Galadhon. The structures she could see were ornate and intricately carved, with high arched wooden roofs and curved walls whose contours blended seamlessly into the surrounding forest. They became camouflaged among the boughs of the mallorn trees as the day grew lighter and the candles faded out.

Flynn thought about where to go from here. Stand up? Nose around the healer's talan? Go down to the forest floor? She was hungry, but what would she say, and to whom? "Hi, I'm the invalid in the healer's place and I'm starving. Feed me, please?"

One of her more pressing questions was answered, however, when presently a lady Elf appeared at the top of the stairs with a tray in her hands. Upon it were covered platters and a slender silver jug. The Elf set the tray down on a table across the talan from Flynn, who said hello. The Elf smiled in reply.

"Is that for me?" Flynn asked.

The Elf nodded. "Cilien bade me bring you some repast. She said it had been long since you last ate, so we have given you a little of everything."

"That is very kind of you," Flynn smiled politely. She wondered who else was involved in her care, and said aloud, "Can I ask, who is 'we'? I do not know anyone here yet."

"Myself and the other apprentice healers." The Elf folded her hands together and looked not altogether comfortable, as though she were not used to making conversation with strangers, no less mortals.

"You are an apprentice healer? That must be interesting work," Flynn said, attempting to open up the dialogue.

"It is hard work. But yes, I suppose it is interesting."

There was a vaguely awkward silence. The Elf's eyes searched the mid-distance uncomfortably.

"So... there are more of you, then; the apprentice healers? Are there many?"

"Not many, no. There is Brennewyn, and also Helmir. And myself."

"I'm sorry, I did not hear your name," Flynn ventured.

"I apologise – my name is Arrow."

"Arrow?" Flynn repeated. If only this Elf knew what that combination of letters meant in English!

"Yes, Arrow. It is a variation on the Quenya word for sunlight."

It seemed something of a misnomer considering this Elf had hair as dark as moonless midnight and her demeanour certainly was not all sunshine and light. Flynn veered back on topic. "And you work at this healing study every day?" It was like drawing blood from a stone.

"We study the old texts in the mornings, then practise in the afternoons. As much as we can, in any case, since elves do not succumb to sickness. Most of the time is spent with the animals."

"Oh, I see." A pause. "Where I am from you would probably be called a 'veterinarian'."

"Oh," said the Elf, looking distracted. Then after a brief pause; "Well, I must be going. As I said, I have text study."

"Of course. I apologise if I have kept you," Flynn replied with a smile.

The Elf turned to leave, then seemed to remember something suddenly, and turned back again. "I am to tell you that you are welcome to visit upon our grounds anywhere you wish. And if you need the healers at all, we convene every morning in the dell beyond the Lady of the Wood's mirror."

Flynn's interest piqued at this. "Do you mean Galadriel's mirror?" she asked, trying not to sound overly excited.

"Well, the relic that once was the Lady's mirror, yes. It is now something of a ruin, having not been used these some scores of years. If you walk east and downhill to where the mirror did stand, there you will see an opening in the far wall. Follow the path beyond that and turn right at the statue of a maiden. You will find us there in a glade."

Flynn nodded. "Thank you for your help."

The Elf nodded curtly, turned, and left.

Flynn waited until Arrow was out of sight before descending upon the food. She dragged a low wooden stool over to where the tray had been left and with her one good arm began uncovering the platters. Fruit, cheese, aromatic bread, sliced cured meat, hot bacon, warm vegetable soup and a stew-like concoction smelling strongly of summer herbs greeted her nose and hungry eyes. She poured a cup of the liquid from the jug and was pleased to find it tasted very much like English breakfast tea.

The morning birds sang as she chewed thoughtfully. It was difficult to eat with one hand – bread moved while she tried to spread it with butter, and food had to be cut with the side of a spoon. She re-stacked the tray when she was finished, and went about satiating her curiosity about the healer and elven medical knowledge. Moving to the far edge of the talan which was lined with high glass and wooden shelves, Flynn lifted, shook, and even sniffed at some of the bottles and vials she found there. Nothing registered with familiarity, except for the organic smells of herbs and ground root.

As Flynn moved along the shelves it occurred to her that, though she could see no other elves on the surrounding talans, it did not necessarily mean they were not there. She halted her inquisitive nosing and tried to look nonchalant as she sat back down on the bed. Her arm throbbed. Remembering the flask on the table beside her she tugged out the stopper and poured herself a shot. Three mouthfuls a day: that was the limit. Flynn wasn't sure when her last dose had been – maybe last night? She downed the shot anyway.

She lay back gingerly and closed her eyes, promptly passing out, and when she awoke the sun was higher in the sky. She felt groggy and nauseous. Her arm did not hurt, so it seemed to be a necessary trade-off. Flynn decided to get up and about, despite her state, and considered going to meet the apprentice healers under the ruse of being concerned about the effects of the anaesthetic, which certainly seemed intense in strength, but really she thought it would just be nice to meet some people. She sat up gingerly, then stood, then attempted to fight the overwhelming dizziness, and then failed. A horrible feeling rose up in her and in a second she had thrown herself down at the edge of the talan, and, without time to check what – if anything – was below, heaved up the contents of her stomach.

Grimacing through the dizziness she breathed heavily, and after the horrible nausea subsided she fumbled over to her bedside stand and attempted a sip of water. She swirled it around in her mouth and spat it over the talan's edge, reasoning that she couldn't make any more mess than she already had. Sipping more and spitting more, the foul taste in her mouth receded. She attempted to stand, more slowly this time, and the dizziness did not return. Carefully she crossed the talan, and, steadying herself on the trunk of the tree, made her way down to the forest floor, where not a soul could be seen. Now she had an entirely valid excuse for going to the healers. But so much for beginning at Galadriel's mirror – she didn't even know where _she_ was, let alone any other point of reference in this wood.

In her haze she decided to start moving anyway, and she carefully walked along a path, heading roughly east as far as she could tell by the sun. The path itself ran more or less evenly, but she knew she must begin to bank downhill to her left at some point if she was going to find it. Soon a smaller path branched off precisely as required and she followed it downhill, passing massive silver trunks and impossibly green grass as she went. For a moment she thought she saw the bright white rump of a small deer bounding off into the forest, but she couldn't be sure. She noticed growing along the side of the path a clutch of wild mint, and she picked a handful, not bothering to find somewhere to wash it. Chewing down the whole lot, Flynn recalled its rumoured ability to settle the stomach, but mostly she needed to erase the taste still lingering in her mouth.

She soaked in the dappled sunlight streaming down, but shivered a little with a breeze that ruffled through. Her clothes were not her own; she wore a simple, long dress in pale grey and could barely feel it upon her at all. Nor did she feel much weight to the light, floor-length coat tied loosely about her collarbones. Through one voluminous sleeve her good arm was threaded but her other rested inside the breast. The fabric was so featherweight that it seemed to float, and it did little to provide warmth. Who had dressed her in these clothes? Flynn wasn't overly comfortable with the entire healing contingent of the Lórien elves having seen her unclothed. Perhaps it was only Cilien who had dressed her. Or Legolas. At this thought a tiny sliver of electricity sparked in her belly.

What was this feeling?

Flynn's stopped and frowned, the strange sensation unwelcome. She shook herself. Legolas was gone now, and it was entirely possible she would never see him again. It was not worth pursuing even the thought, let alone speculating on how she might feel if that happened. She shook herself and pressed on downhill until she saw through the forest a glimpse of some ruins. There was a low stone wall overgrown with ivy, demarcating a glade sunken into the hillside. She moved closer and decided this must be the former site of the mirror. Picking a path through the long grass and shifts of leaves, down to the edge of the wall where a massive mallorn's roots defined the edge of a stone staircase leading down into the circle, she carefully descended the mossy steps. Flynn beheld the mirror so famed and revered those years ago. Now it was not so much a mirror as a carved stone basin on a block pillar, which had held a magical scrying pool – and it wasn't so much a lovely stone basin as it was a somewhat decrepit ruin, merely a stump. She touched it, perhaps hoping that it would still hold some magic, something tangible, but it only felt like moist stone.

Such a shame it was that ruin would come to this beautiful divining tool, used for centuries to foresee the fate of the races alike. But without Galadriel it was no use, so here it was, an ancient relic which would eventually be seen as an artefact time out of mind, and no-one alive would know what its use had ever been. She moved away from the center of the circle now and looked to the end opposite where she had entered. There was indeed an opening broken into the stone and she followed it, easily finding the path Arrow had described. It led further downhill, through gradually thinning trees and levelling ground, until many coloured flowers lined the path and the air felt altogether warmer than above in Caras Galadhon.

Flynn heard voices, somewhere not far off, laughing and chattering loudly, and she followed them to a clearing bathed in sunlight, where three figures sat, engrossed in conversation, in the grass. Rolls of vellum in various stages of unfurling surrounded them in disarray as well as books and pots of ink. Arrow looked up first as Flynn approached, and the others followed suit.

"Hello," Arrow called across the glade. "Are you feeling unwell?"

She wasn't sure how to reply. Did she need a purpose to speak to them? Did she have to be unwell to have their attention? "Somewhat," she finally said, and moved closer. The other two figures, who had their backs to her at first, had craned their necks around with curiosity. Flynn squared herself, feeling a little judged, and addressed them all. "I wanted to ask about your pain remedy. I am afraid it is too strong, or something akin to that. I fell asleep after you left," she continued, addressing Arrow, "and now I feel as though I have been dead for a few hours. And when I tried to get up just now, I... was sick. I thought perhaps that was not normal."

One of Arrow's companions, a young Man with a face wrinkled by smiling and sunlight suddenly broke into a laugh. "That would be Cilien's work for you – her pain remedies are almost lethal," he said in Elvish with an accent almost as thick as Flynn's own, his thick, ginger hair flopping in an unruly mass over his head.

The other figure, a pretty blonde female who could only have been an Elf, though her long hair covered her ears, was smiling now too. "Come, sit down," she invited in a full-toned voice. "We will have a look at you." Flynn moved over to where they sat and carefully set herself down, finding it difficult to balance. As Flynn moved, the Elf continued, "One cannot be too careful when treating pain. And I should like to see your arm, too."

Flynn shrugged the cloak off her injured arm for better inspection. "I hope you have not eaten recently, because this will not look good," she warned. The Man leaned in to get a better look as Flynn shrugged off the sling and the prettier Elf helped her peel off the gauze. The skin beneath was revealed in patches of dark purple and red and, in some places, yellow. Flynn winced at the sight and it seemed to throb all the worse for looking at it.

"That is impressive," said the Man eagerly, and he gently turned Flynn's arm over to get a thorough look. She took it back shortly and the unnamed Elf began to re-wrap it. Arrow looked slightly queasy.

"Well, now you have seen the most horrible parts of my body," Flynn said. "We should meet properly. I am Flynn."

"Oh, Valar – I do apologise!" blushed the Elf. "I am Brennewyn of Lórien," she said and then gestured to the Man. "This is Helmir of Gondor. And you have met Arrow."

Flynn smiled at Arrow, whose pale face had lightened a shade since she caught sight of Flynn's arm. Flynn politely told them it was a pleasure to meet them, and Brennewyn asked to take a closer look in Flynn's eyes. Flynn obliged, and Brennewyn frowned, looking confused. "I do not see any shadows that speak of more ill health than just your arm," she said. "So I do not know why you felt so sick."

"Perhaps it was the kind of mixture you gave me?" Flynn suggested. "I have never taken well to opiates – they make me sick." She was about to relay the story of a time when she had reacted messily to morphine in hospital, but held back, remembering neither morphine nor hospitals existed for them.

"Opiates?" Helmir quizzed. He had no idea what she was talking about, she could tell, and not just because there was no Elvish word for 'opiates'. Was she actually going to have to teach _them_ a little about medicine?

"Well, do you know those flowers with the big, rounded sort of leaves, and they are black in the middle? In my native tongue, 'opiates' are pain killers made from those flowers." The apprentice healers' faces were blank. "Well, let me show you." Flynn took one a pen from its ink well and asked for a spare piece of paper. Brennewyn tore a sheet from a leather-bound notebook and handed it to Flynn. Flynn began drawing the distinctive shape of a poppy flower on the page and, when finished, passed it around the group.

"Oh yes, of course!" Helmir exclaimed. "Cilien uses these to make her strongest pain remedy!"

So Flynn was currently full to the brim with opiates. "Ah," Flynn confirmed, "Well, I tend to be very sick when I take anything made with those flowers."

Helmir grinned and seemed pleased to have puzzled a small medical mystery. No doubt they did not often get practical experience. "We shall just have to find you something else to dull the pain," he said.

Arrow said, "You seem to know a little about healing. Have you been apprenticed?"

"A little, you could say," Flynn replied, then added, "To be honest, I never performed well enough in my schooling, but I would have loved to become a healer."

Helmir looked puzzled again. "You were schooled in healing, but do not practice now? Surely this is a wasted talent!"

Obviously the educational conventions from her own time were lost on them. Flynn back-pedalled slightly. "I mean I never had schooling in the healing art, because my family did not do well enough to buy me an apprenticeship." Hopefully this would suffice.

"Well you are obviously learned nonetheless," Arrow commented.

"Yes, did you study on your own?" Brennewyn asked.

At least this was true. "Yes, I had some books. I read them over and over. But where I am from, the art of healing is very... different." She wanted to say 'advanced', but she thought it wise to stop short of offending them.

"Well, you should know our subject matter!" Helmir said excitedly. "Let us show you where we are with our studies – perhaps you can resume where you left off?"

"Oh, I – I do not know. You have your study to do, and I am not officially an apprentice here, anyway. I would just be getting in the way." Flynn tucked her injured arm back into her cloak.

"Nonsense," Brennewyn reassured. "If you know anything that we do not, then you will be more than helpful to us."

Flynn conceded, and the apprentices showed her their latest subjects of study. Their medicine was sophisticated, but not overly so. They had such marvels as painkillers, mood enhancers, and supposed hangover remedies. They had an understanding of the skeletal system, and they understood some of the underlying structures, but mainly only the muscles. Their knowledge of the locations and structures of internal organs was impressive but they did not fully understand many of the functions. Flynn could see she already knew a great deal more than they did.

As the morning gave way to a cloudy afternoon, they moved on to the texts regarding animals, and here they were also quite sophisticated – in some ways even more so than with Human and Elf anatomy. The treatments here, too, were more complete, as though there had been much more trial and error performed on sick animals than on humans. It seemed only fair, as elves never got sick, and it had been many years since the War of the Ring and the many battle injuries sustained within it.

The apprentices had records of this War amongst their medical texts. There were many accounts of elven soldiers brought back from the front lines with horrific injuries. There were even graphic sketches of the actual injuries sustained, labelled in detail in a scientific manner, the tissue and sinew analysed as though completely detached from a living soul. And though images of medical conditions – even the most horrible ones – had never really affected Flynn before, now she was sickened to the stomach. Just a few decades ago there had been a war here; a horrific, unjust and consuming war that had claimed the lives of so many good and innocent people and so many brave men and elves and hobbits and even dwarves who had risked everything to preserve the land they loved.

Flynn's mind strayed to Legolas. He had witnessed all this. He had fought right within the central artery of this war and he had lived to watch the battle crumble, and the people of Middle-earth defeat the evil forces. She could not imagine the pain he had seen; the agony, the death. Legolas had witnessed his own kin, the beautiful and wise elves born never to die, lying slain on the battlefields. He had witnessed his friends struck down and hoped for the lucky ones to heal. Flynn wondered how a person could go on living, having seen so much horror.

But why was she pondering so intensely on Legolas? He was not the only one who had been through this War, and he was not the only one still around to tell the tale. Flynn's eyes were glazed and she shook her head quickly, bending over the text the apprentices were showing her, trying to focus. But it was no use. Her thoughts strayed ever to Legolas, her brave, kind, and wise acquaintance; her friend, generous of spirit and good of humour. It was all wrong to think this way, to feel any way at all about him. But she could not train her mind elsewhere, and noticing her wandering attention, Brennewyn asked, "Is something the matter?"

Flynn re-focused, but only barely. "No," she murmured. She cleared her throat, feeling suddenly that with thoughts this loud the keen elves would surely perceive her melancholy and draw their own conclusions. "But I do not feel... right," she said hesitantly.

Brennewyn put an arm around Flynn's shoulder. "Gracious, here we are forcing you to look over our texts and you must be utterly exhausted. Here, let us get you back to your bed."

Helmir and Brennewyn helped her to her feet and guided her back to the leaf-shaped talan, but Flynn knew that sleep would not help. She hoped, against her heart, that Legolas never returned, despite having said that he wanted to see her well again. Because if he never returned, then she would never have to see him say goodbye another time, and she was sure that if she lived her whole life without once more having to see him turn to leave, she could be happy. Flynn sat on the bed, staring blankly out through the dim afternoon light washing the forest in grey. The birds were silent. She was alone.


	12. Return

**12 – RETURN**

From the day she met them, Flynn spent most of her time with the apprentices, studying along with them, fascinated by their practices and what they knew and did not know. Here and there she pointed out to them an anomaly in their practices, gently suggesting they try things another way, and acting surprised when her ideas worked. Four weeks passed and she felt her arm healing slowly, though Cilien had not yet returned.

The apprentices had been kind to Flynn in more ways than simply letting her pore over their texts and join in their study. They inspected her arm daily and made efforts to adjust her pain killer to something that would not make her ill, for which she was immensely grateful. When she seemed well enough to fend mostly for herself, they moved her from the healer's home to a talan she could, for a time, call her own. They arranged for a guide rope to be strung along the stair canopy leading up the tree trunk, so she could steady herself better when going up and down the stairs one-armed.

They invited her to the communal meals shared by the Lórien elves and introduced her to as many residents as they could, putting her at ease among what was wholly a large group of strangers. Brennewyn and Helmir were especially good at dragging new people into any conversation, and through them Flynn began to spend more and more time with the elves and feel, as much as she could, a little more at home.

The apprentices were very fast becoming Flynn's allies in Lórien. After more stilted conversations, Flynn had in some small way managed to draw Arrow out of the shy shell in which she seemed to seek cover. Arrow was not often at ease the way most elves were; in fact she seemed to be a constant state of mild distress over the fact that she had not nearly the aptitude for her studies as the others did. It was Brennewyn who excelled in the healing art. The fairer of the elves seemed to understand the teachings intuitively, and Flynn was sure she would be a great healer of Cilien's calibre one day. She was easier to warm to than Arrow, but she was not by nature an overly funny person – that role was Helmir's. Helmir was the baby of the three, being a mere Mortal and thus not much older than Flynn. He was fond of distracting the apprentices from their studies with outlandish stories of adventures the others were sure he had never been involved in. He was a trained swordsman by upbringing but his father had forbade him from fighting, desperate not to lose his son before his time, and sent him to Lórien with a hefty purse of gold for the apprenticeship. The Man was refreshingly approachable, and despite the depth in his dark eyes, often foolhardy.

Every now and then Arrow or Brennewyn, inquisitive like any woman, would pose a question that attempted to delve a little into Flynn's past and her origins. She was inordinately uncomfortable with these questions but they seemed not to heed this and pressed on anyway, healers analytical by nature as they were – and probably more than a little nosy. Thus they had managed to eke out of Flynn a few things: that she came from somewhere far north beyond the sea, which was partially true, since she had lived not far from the ocean; that her home had been a warm and beautiful island, which was entirely true whether she indicated the size of the island or not; that she had travelled alone, which was true; and that she had come by boat, which was a complete lie. When this all began to sound suspiciously like she was implying she had come from the direction of Valinor, she had had to give them a name for her far-off land, and so she had told them the place was called 'Stralis', a bastardisation of 'Australis', the Latin inspiration for her homeland's name. She told them that it was very hot all of the time, so it must be very far away indeed, and almost impossible to return to.

But it was one such questioning session, when Brennewyn and Flynn were sitting by the stream Celebrant washing their gowns and linens, and Flynn could not construct any more answers for the Elf's curiosity, that she had to steer the conversation elsewhere, and somehow the topic of Ellos came up.

"I do not suppose you ever washed an elven gown before," Brennewyn said with a grin, dunking a lavender dress in the water. Her thick and wavy blonde hair had been pulled loosely back in a scarf that covered her pointed ears and she looked, at a brief glance, just like your average fifties housewife on washing day – if fifties housewives had immaculate skin, wore empire-lined gowns with bell sleeves, and radiated all the warmth of summer afternoons.

Flynn had grown very comfortable with this Elf and admitted, "Until a few months ago I had not even _met_ an Elf, let alone worn elven clothing or needed to wash it. Do tell me if I am doing this wrong," she added, watching the Elf and mimicking her actions with the dress she held.

"There are no elves in Stralis?"

"Sadly, no," Flynn replied. "But I wish had spent a little time among elves before I came here. It might have taught me a thing or two about whom to avoid."

"Really?" Brennewyn ventured, cocking one perfectly defined eyebrow.

With Brennewyn suitably baited and the conversation veering away from her homeland, Flynn went on, "I foolishly grew far too close to a half-Elf I met some weeks ago, who helped me out of several dangerous situations." She shot a conspiratory grin to Brennewyn, and added, "But he was _so _very handsome, you understand. That did seem to cloud my judgement!"

Brennewyn returned Flynn's mischievous grin and asked, "I assume you are no longer involved?"

"No. He went away after he had taken me to the elves and put me in their care. He seemed to have places to be, people to see... That is what men say, is it not? But to tell you the truth, I am glad he left after he showed me to the outpost near Dol Guldur. When I think about it now, he really was not the best person to befriend; he was very arrogant, actually. But sometimes it is hard to resist that, is it not? Men like that – they get such a hold on you." She paused for a moment, focusing on scrubbing a grass stain from the hem of her dress, certain the elves in Lórien were likely never marred by things as irksome as grass stains. She went on; "Though I do think about him still."

Brennewyn nodded knowingly, wringing the garment through her hands. She laid it out on a flat rock to dry in the sun while they worked, and took another from her pile. "Where is he now?" she asked.

"Somewhere between here and Dol Amroth, I assume. He had business with his father there." Flynn folded a dress that had dried already in the hot morning.

Brennewyn was thoughtful for a moment. "His father is not Prince Alpholos, is it?"

Flynn stopped. Very slowly, she replied, "Yes... Why?"

Brennewyn smiled and kept her eyes on her work. "Someone comes to mind, that is all."

"Oh, do not be so secretive!" Flynn prodded. "Who are you thinking of?"

Brennewyn laughed, a throaty laugh from deep within that only came from millennia of learning how to laugh fully and with a whole heart. "It can only be Ellos you speak of."

Flynn's curiosity was piqued. "How in Arda did you know...?"

"There are not many like him, let us say," Brennewyn replied.

"Do you know him?"

"No. But many say his abundance in good looks and his success in seducing women is only matched by his lack of maturity and his failure to make of himself something useful, especially according to his father."

"He has a reputation here, too?"

"Among some of those who have met him, yes. I do not personally know him."

"Well," Flynn said, now unmoving. "I think I really should have been forewarned!"

Brennewyn looked back to her washing. Flynn tried not to feel an utter fool for doubting what Legolas had said about Ellos. The sun drew high overhead and made hot work of their dunking and scrubbing as they chatted away, hardly stopping for breath as they shared gossip and speculation, for it was difficult to keep a secret in Lórien, and Brennewyn seemed to be privy to almost everything that went on in that ageing wood, with its open-air living quarters and keen-eared residents.

As Flynn folded another of the dresses she had been generously given by this fair Elf – whose dismay had been evident when she found that Flynn had only two or three changes of her own clothes, and had rushed off to find Flynn suitable raiment – Brennewyn fell silent and suddenly sat up rigidly. Her eyes darted about and her facial muscles tensed as though straining to hear. Flynn knew better than to ask what was the matter, for the Elf was listening, and would let her know if there was danger. Brennewyn, however, quickly relaxed visibly and went back to running a garment through her hands, saying nothing. Flynn watched her and raised a brow, wondering if Brennewyn was really going to neglect to fill Flynn in. A tiny smirk threatened at the corner of the Elf's lips.

But the source of Brennewyn's concern – or sudden lack thereof – duly appeared. On the bank across from them and a little way upstream near the delicate wooden footbridge, someone was emerging from the trees. Brennewyn ignored this, completely unconcerned as she kept her eyes on her work, but Flynn still felt a twinge of fear rise up, an irrepressible instinct. And then he appeared in full, strolling towards the bridge and stopping there, leaning against the banister, his lips wide: Legolas, gazing on Flynn and smiling, standing up again and crossing the bridge, all the while his eyes trained on her, now striding, until at last he was near them. Flynn stood, speechless, and he delicately took her hands in his, drinking in the sight of her, and, "You look so well!" he said.

Flynn, stunned by his sudden appearance, could not speak, and she looked him over, not believing the fair face that once again graced her eyes, until finally she realised she must say something – anything – and she replied, "I am well!"

Legolas smiled warmly. He glanced down at her injured arm and then gently brought it up before his eyes. "It is a miracle," he said. "You are almost healed."

Flynn gestured to Brennewyn, who sat smirking and pretending to work. "I have the apprentice healers to thank for that." Brennewyn looked up and smiled and Flynn went to introduce the elves to each other, shortly discovering they were already acquaintances. Brennewyn stood and smiled and greeted Legolas warmly, and then she excused herself to the place a little further down the bank where garments were drying in the sun, leaving Flynn and Legolas with something of the illusion of being alone.

Flynn watched Brennewyn move off then looked back at Legolas, who still held her hands. She subtly – but not subtly enough for it to go unnoticed by him – removed her hands from his and said, "What are you doing here, Legolas?" He laughed and she back-pedalled: "Not that it is not lovely to see you! But – well, I did not think I would see you again!"

Legolas's smile disappeared. "You thought you would not ever see me again?"

Flynn had to bite her tongue not to say she had certainly _hoped_, for her own sanity's (and maybe her heart's) sake, never to see him again. "The thought had crossed my mind," she admitted. Legolas regarded her silently for a moment, his face betraying that he knew there was something she did not say. Growing uncomfortable under his sharp eyes, Flynn asked, "So, what _are_ you doing here? You did not answer when I asked."

There was a pause in which Flynn could feel Legolas searching her face before he answered, "After Cilien had tended to Gildaer's horse, I decided to return here with her to spend time with my kin who I had not known dwelt here," he said. "The condition of our arriving here and leaving was so hurried that I could not fully appreciate what is still good in Lórien. It has been long years since my old kin and I last shared company. I must take the opportunity in these days of peace, before they all leave... as they all seem to do."

Flynn nodded – an unaffected reply though she felt her heart contract just a little. He had not come just to see her, and a tiny hope she hadn't even known she held, burst inside her.

Suddenly they were interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps thrashing through the trees. Legolas, knowing no sound like that could come from an Elf, moved like lightning to pull his bow from his back and in a second had strung it with an arrow aiming in the direction of the forest. For a moment he looked utterly deadly, so alert and poised that Flynn's heart fluttered, and not with fear. But the moment fled when the red face of Helmir, panting heavily, came bursting from the trees and, sighting Brennewyn nearby, he cried, "Come quickly! It is the pregnant mare!"

Brennewyn dropped what she was doing and Flynn ran to Helmir, Legolas bringing up the rear with his bow at his side. Flynn knew the horse was due to foal any day now. "Is she birthing?" Her brow tightened.

Helmir still gasped for air but he began moving to leave, saying, "There have been complications. Just come now, quickly!" He broke into a trot back through the forest, and the others followed. Helmir explained between heavy puffs and pants that the horse had finally given birth but she was bleeding profusely and was in grave risk of death. Brennewyn took up elven speed and was far ahead of them in no time, but Legolas matched Flynn and Helmir's run, though he could go much faster, accompanying Flynn to this trouble, wondering why it was her place to go at all.

They dodged small saplings and traversed a long avenue of sky-high trees – the grandiose formal entry to Caras Galadhon – until at last they came out into a wide field where they found Brennewyn and Cilien kneeling, their hands busied with medical apparatus which looked terribly old-fashioned to Flynn. A prostrate horse lay on the ground, blood all over the grass and two of the horse's tenders looking grief-stricken by her side. Arrow was several feet away tending to the newborn foal, its fur matted with amniotic fluid, and she looked visibly ill and avoided glancing at the mother horse.

"Quickly!" Cilien commanded, "We must replace her blood, as we have done before."

"I already have a source," Helmir said. "There was a deer killed in a hunt this morning, being brought here as we speak."

Flynn reeled in horror at the idea that they were going to attempt a transfusion to replace the horse's lost blood with that of a deer. "You cannot do that!" she exclaimed.

"I know it is a risk, and she may die anyway," Brennewyn said. "But we must try."

"We will just have to be more careful than last time," said Helmir. "I do not know why it went so wrong. The texts say –"

"The texts are wrong!" Flynn interrupted, afraid for the poor horse. "If you have done this before and it has not worked, it is because you cannot give an animal the blood of any other kind of animal! It will kill her!"

"How can you be sure?" It was Cilien now, the supreme healer, who evidently did not enjoy being undermined by this Mortal whom she had not seen since leaving her convalescing those weeks ago. "You are questioning methods that have been used for thousands of years."

"I just know. I just know; it has been tried in my land as well, and we have discovered that you must use the blood of the same animal. And it must be the same blood type."

"Blood type?" Helmir queried.

Flynn realised they had no way of knowing which of the other horses would have blood compatible with that of the mare. She wasn't even sure how horse's blood types worked, and if she did she certainly couldn't explain it to these elves. But then she had an idea that would give them a small chance of getting the right blood type, and she asked, "Does she have any family here? The mare? Does she have any brothers or sisters, her parents, any other offspring?"

One of the mare's tenders who hovered nearby offered, "She has a brother here."

"Is he healthy enough to spare any blood? Where is he?" Flynn asked.

The Elf turned, glanced around, and pointed excitedly at a proud and strong steed idly chewing on the grass at the far end of the field. "There! He is over there!"

"Then bring him quickly," she commanded. "We must use his blood, and his blood only." Elves and men stared at Flynn, shocked by the authority in her voice and her unexpected knowledge. "Now!" she shouted, and the horse tenders ran off to fetch the mare's brother. Flynn's heart palpitated. There was little time to spare. "Quickly," she said to Brennewyn and Cilien, "We must stop the bleeding. I do not know how, but we must."

Cilien was calm despite Flynn's rising adrenaline. "We have stopped the bleeding, Flynn. But she has lost so much blood already that she fades quickly. The blood we give her will be all that we can do now."

Flynn surveyed the scene, adrenaline fuelling her and her hands twitching with the need to stay busy. Cilien sensed her edginess, knowing it would only give the horse reason to fear. "Calm yourself, please," the healer said. "We can deal with this from here."

Stymied, Flynn's face fell. Brennewyn offered, "Here, stroke her head, keep her calm."

Flynn nodded and crouched by the mare's head, gently running her hand down from between her ears to the base of her mane. Legolas watched for a moment, then moved to join Flynn and, stroking the mare's cheek, whispered soothing words to her. At Legolas's touch the mare visibly relaxed, a fact which did not go unnoticed by any of the females – Mortal or Elf – present.

Flynn sighed. Between Cilien's taking over the transfusion and Legolas sedating the horse with his very words, it seemed she was no longer needed. She looked up from her hand on the horse's mane to find Legolas watching her as he scratched the mare's cheek. His face was questioning and unwittingly she gave him a weary smile in reply that said she was wholly dissatisfied.

When the elves returned with the mare's brother, Cilien ordered everyone but the apprentice healers to move away while she worked. Flynn and Legolas backed away, but Flynn could not take her eyes off the mare, hoping against hope that she had not just sentenced it to death by helping it to the wrong blood type.

Legolas marked her stress and put an arm around her, guiding her away. "Come, there is no need to watch this," he gently told her.

She gave in to his strength and let him turn her fully away and lead her back into the forest towards Caras Galadhon.

The horse's fate weighed heavily on her mind and she did not speak. She absently cracked the knuckles of her good hand until Legolas could stand the sound no longer and he slid his hand into hers and stretched it out with his own as they walked, forcing her to relax. She knew that the sound must have been, to him, like a hammer striking an anvil, though Flynn could have told him this was a perfectly normal thing for joints to do and that cracking her knuckles would cause no damage.

"Do not harrow such lovely hands with something as futile as worry," Legolas said sagely.

Flynn would normally have blushed at such a comment, but she was only irritated that Legolas did not seem to think it mattered. "Of course I am going to worry, futile or not," she responded hastily. "They are acting on my advice now and I do not even know if it is right. I cannot _not_ worry."

"I understand your concern, Flynn, and I do not say that you have no need to worry." Legolas said gently. "But worry will take all your energy, when you may need it later for other things. The healers may need you. If the mare recovers – and I think she will, as you appear to be versed in the healing ways – then you may need to continue the good work tonight. She will need constant care, will she not?"

He was attempting to reassure her and she appreciated it, but she could only say, "They seemed not to need me just now. I am sure you noticed."

Legolas smiled to himself as they turned down the mallorn-lined avenue, heading away from Caras Galadhon now and towards the Celebrant. "Cilien is stubborn and does not like her authority and supremacy as a healer questioned," he offered by way of explanation.

Flynn grinned. "Yes, I noticed."

"And they _did_ need you there."

She could only hope that the transfusion would work and she would be proven right, otherwise she had greatly shamed herself in front of the healers and Legolas. She could not decide which one was worse. Grimacing, she chided herself for caring about Legolas's opinion so much.

"Here, we should fetch your things from the stream. Perhaps there will be news on the mare by the time we get back," Legolas soon said.

Flynn agreed, and they walked along through the shades cast by the mallorn and the sunny spaces between, their hands still interlocked though Flynn did not know why. She told herself to release his hand and end this now before she began to get any ideas about spending more time with Legolas and exploring this person he was, about whose past Tolkien had written nothing – but she found she could not let go. It was as if her whole forearm from fingertip to elbow was weakened. There was warmth in his touch and, like a cat napping in front of a fire, she did not have the strength to pull herself away.

Legolas did the job for her, however, when he trotted to the side of the avenue to pick a cluster of tiny white flowers from a patch he saw in the grasses between the trees. He twisted the stems around each other and tied them off in a knot, then approached Flynn, who watched with great interest. He reached out and pushed her hair back from her temple, then slid the posy behind her ear. "There," he said. "Perfect."

Flynn felt a hot blush coming to her cheeks, and Legolas, sensing her discomfort, fell into step beside her again and they continued strolling. "You have taken well to the Lórien dress," he commented.

"Well, I did not have many clothes of my own, so Brennewyn was kind enough to give me a few things. I like the style here. It fits so well into the landscape."

Legolas gave her a look that wondered if there was any other way to design clothing. Flynn ignored it; she would really have to watch the way she spoke if she was going to avoid any more suspicion from this keen Elf, although with incidents like today's she wondered with a tightening of her gut if there was only a limited expiration date on her secrets.

Flynn turned her head a little to regard him, trying to be subtle. The Elf's hair was styled in a way she had not seen; the crown of his hair was caught up at the back of his head, and what was left of the hair at the side she could see ran into a tiny braid along his temple and behind his ear. His fair face went from darkly shaded to framed by light as they stepped between the shadows, and it was in the light that he seemed the most at home, his face adored by the sun as it bounced off his features, creating a soft glow on his skin and illuminating the stark blue-grey of his eyes as if from behind. Without realising she had done it, Flynn let out a little sigh. But the Elf marked it, as he always did.

When they reached the Celebrant stream, Legolas helped Flynn pile her things together, but he did so unhurriedly, and this slowing her down had the slight effect of calming her, too. He gestured her over to the footbridge and sat down at its edge, removing his shoes to push his legs through the banisters and dangling his feet in the water. Gods, he even had lovely feet.

Flynn followed in kind, pushing the voluminous folds of her dress up around her thighs to keep it relatively clean. Legolas couldn't help but steal a glace at her legs, shapely despite her somewhat diminutive – compared to the elves – frame. She kicked her feet slowly through the running stream, not noticing his eyes on her. Eventually he said, "You have become a healer's apprentice now?"

She sighed. "Hardly. The apprentices have taken me in as a friend."

"It is surely more than that. They seek your advice; does this not mean you are one of them in some way?"

"I wish it did mean that. They ask for my help because I know things they do not, but I only know these things because I hail from a place where the healing style is... different."

"Better?"

Flynn smiled to herself. Surely she could tell him something of this. "Legolas, can I trust you to keep our words private?"

He stared out at the water, his face contemplative. "If you wish to, you can trust me to the ends of Middle-earth and across the sea."

Flynn stalled for a moment, not remembering what she had been about to say, then regained her trail and said, "The truth is, where I am from the healing is far advanced beyond what you know here. On my first day here I was having trouble with the pain remedy Cilien gave me –"

"Having trouble?" Legolas interrupted.

"I was sick. Violently."

"Oh."

"I suggested they change it to a different kind, and because this was beyond any ideas they had had, they began to question me about what I knew, and they have now gleaned that the healing methods where I come from can add to their own texts. So they invited me to begin study with them, and I did, and I have enjoyed it, but this whole time I have had to hold back from sharing too much of what I know."

"Why must you hold back?"

"Because I do not want them to think I know this much, and make them feel their teachings thus far have been inadequate."

"Why would this concern you?"

Flynn hadn't really thought about it. "Because I would prefer they liked me?"

"You think they will be jealous of your knowledge?" Now that Legolas said it aloud it sounded stupid, and Flynn didn't answer. "Surely you know they are beyond jealousy?" Legolas suggested.

"I had not thought of it that way. I just wanted not to rock the boat."

Legolas was thoughtful. "You enjoy this? This healing work?"

"I really do. I always wanted to be a –" she stopped short of 'doctor'. "I always wished I could heal," she said.

"Then give yourself to it," he said softly. "Surrender. If this is what you are called to, in your heart, in your very core, then why not surrender to it?"

Flynn was silent. Legolas was right. Why should she hold back when she had been given this chance to excel? And had today's incident not showed her that, if she was to make an influence, they had to trust that she really knew what she was talking about?

"There is one problem, though," Flynn said, interrupting the peaceful song of the water gurgling under the bridge.

"Cilien. You are afraid that she will not take well to her status being usurped by a newcomer, much less a Mortal."

"How did you know?"

"I know Cilien. And if she were half the Elf she should be, she would welcome this chance to teach someone who was truly worthy of her mentorship. But I do know Cilien."

"And you think she will not rise to the challenge?"

"It would be a lie if I said I thought she would be the honourable one."

"She cannot be all bad."

Legolas smiled. "She is not. Perhaps you will bring out the best in her."

Flynn hoped so, and her brow creased as the water ran over her toes. She found herself not really wanting to leave this peaceful afternoon away from the commotion on the other side of Caras Galadhon, this babbling stream and this easy silence shared with Legolas. If moments like this could be stretched out for eternity, Flynn thought, then she would gladly be immortal as the elves. But she was not, and she could not be, and so, she reasoned, she would have to content herself with the calling she might have found in Lórien.

- - - - -

Legolas was silent, gazing out through the struts supporting the bridge's railing. He had to question what he thought he was doing here. He had told Flynn that he returned to Lórien to spend time with his old friends, but the simple truth was, he had chiefly come because he felt compelled to see her. It pressed on him to know if she was well, if she was lonely, if she was healing – but he could not explain why. Or if he could, he denied himself the explanation, though an Elf could never really ignore something so intuitive.

When Legolas saw her that afternoon, he had felt so strangely and utterly compelled to tell her she looked well, because she did. He had watched her from the riverbank a while before moving – before, he was certain, Brennewyn even knew he was there. He had beheld this mortal woman clad in the clothes of the elves, a gown in the palest of greens offsetting her hair the tawny colour of pink clay and her skin lighter than when last he saw her. Flynn was more beautiful here in Lórien, somehow. Her hair was longer – or was that his imagination? – and her posture more dignified. Legolas could see her full lips break into the shining wide smile which lit her face, and hear her unrestrained laugh tinkling over the strange scratch in her voice that showed itself when she had been talking too much. Hearing their voices as they chatted, though he could not make out the words, he felt that she was happier. It pleased his heart to know she was faring well.

But he told himself that he could only have wanted to see her out of concern for her health; for he knew there was no sense in harbouring an underlying motive to spend time with mortals. Compelling as they may be, their lives spanned just the briefest of moments, and it was something he resolved to remind himself every day. But if he really felt that way, then why had he readied to leave East Lórien the minute he knew Aior, Gildaer's horse, would be fine? Why had he ridden hard for days and nights, dragging Cilien along though her frustration at his hurry to return was evident? Why had he rushed to get to Lórien, feeling for the first time in his life as though time was running out? Why, he asked himself, was he back here?


	13. Feast

**13 – FEAST**

The worry didn't leave Flynn's chest. No news had reached her and Legolas of whether the horse's condition had worsened or bettered, and in her mind, no news was bad news. After Legolas carried the entire bulk of garments and linens she and Brennewyn had been washing back to the talan for her, she had excused herself for a nap, telling him that the day so far had exhausted her and her arm throbbed. He had taken his leave, but he did not believe that she was going to rest at all, whether tired or not.

At the base of her tree Legolas stood soundlessly, listening to her shuffle about high up in the canopy, noting her many sighs and listening to her cracking her knuckles over again. He fitted himself, ever upright and watchful, into the shadow at the mallorn's base, and folded his arms over his chest, waiting for something, though he knew not what. Did he wait for the long, deep breaths that would indicate her sleeping? No, she would not sleep, he knew. He had every faith that she had done the right thing, but whether Cilien would agree was a different matter entirely.

Legolas ducked out of sight when Flynn came down from the heights and began to wander somewhat aimlessly. He shadowed her all over the forest, but if she knew he was there, she did not make it known. She passed beyond the perimeter of Caras Galadhon and he noted the way she avoided all contact with others as she wandered, moving deliberately wide of any elves she could see approaching in the distance. Legolas respected her need for solitude and he kept well clear, his keen eyes ever upon her but his silent footfalls never betraying his position.

- - - - -

Flynn had brought an apple with her, her belly growling from the day's activity and the lack of lunch, and she munched on it as she wandered. She felt as though continuing to move would help sort her head from its jumble. First there was her position in Lórien. Legolas had certainly given useful insight on her calling as a healer and the need for her to respond to it, but how was she going to fit comfortably into the role with a master healer who might well make it hard for Flynn to share all that she knew? And if Cilien began to question the source of her knowledge in a more unforgiving manner than the apprentices had done, would Flynn crack and reveal all? And would Cilien turn this against Flynn, call her a sorceress, an intruder? Would they pry from her all that she knew about Middle-earth and its future? Would they banish her?

And there was the problem of Legolas. Legolas, the beautiful archer, the unavoidable Elf she could not seem to resist. Sometimes she felt like a moth to a flame when she was with him. He shone so brightly she could not turn away, but she had no doubt that either she or Legolas would get burned eventually, and she was not entirely sure which was worse. Her thoughts turned to the heart-rending story of Aragorn and Arwen; an Elf princess who forsook the immortal life of her people to be with a mortal Man, the only Man worthy of her love. And the tale of Lúthien and Beren; Lúthien the fairest of all elves ever to live, and Beren a brave Man willing to risk all for her. But wasn't there something these stories had in common? The mortal person was somehow worthy, virtuous and fearless. Flynn was not any of these things; her life could not play out like one of Tolkien's love stories, whether she was in his world or not.

But how could she leave Legolas alone when he would not leave her? Flynn had sensed someone following her not long after she set out. She did not know how she had sensed this, for she had not heard or seen a soul, but something told her she was being watched. She reached the end of a long-abandoned forest path and quickly spun to turn back, and she caught the flutter of blonde hair and the tip of a familiar longbow disappearing behind a tree.

Flynn said nothing and continued walking, but some time later when the last of the sun was fading, and feeling she had let him follow silently for long enough, she stopped. She had almost reached the crest of a high hill, heading for a rocky outcrop she had found during her weeks convalescing, which had a splendid view over the forest if you climbed down a little to a ledge. But she was not going to sit there and contemplate things if he was going to stay there behind her and pretend he wasn't, in fact, there at all.

"Is it your habit to stalk people?" she called to her surroundings in general, knowing she needn't raise her voice.

The forest remained silent. For a moment Flynn wondered if she had been wrong in her detection. Was she really that paranoid?

But then he appeared, trotting down from his position slightly uphill. "Hello," he said.

"'Hello', indeed. You have been following me for hours now."

"I was concerned."

"For me? Why?"

Legolas's face softened. "Because one should not walk in these woods alone, for they are not protected as they once were. And because I worry that you are in distress. It pains me to see you this way."

Flynn smiled. "Did you not tell me just today that worry was not worth the energy it takes to do so?"

Legolas said nothing.

Flynn sighed in resignation. He was not going to admit foolishness and go away. "Come on," she beckoned, heading out of the forest and towards the outcrop. "Now that you are here, I may as well show you something I found."

Legolas followed, and Flynn beckoned him to the ledge, and silently sat, cross-legged, gazing out at the darkling forest and the brilliant orange sun sinking rapidly on the horizon.

"_Sina ná vanya _[This is beautiful," Legolas said, sitting down close by Flynn, not aware he had lapsed into Quenya Elvish, a habit he had when describing things which his eyes fancied.

"_Istan_ [I know," Flynn replied absently.

It was a moment before they realised what had passed.

"You speak the Noble Tongue?" Legolas asked, his tone somewhere between a question and a statement.

Flynn froze. How had her concentration faltered like that – was she too comfortable with Legolas to keep her guard up? Unsure what to tell him, she said. "I understand some."

Legolas's eyes were wide. "Tell me," he said, "How are you learned in Quenya? Even I am lucky to know some, and I am an Elf!"

Flynn was silent for a moment, frowning. "I am not 'learned', as you say."

"But tell me how."

"I cannot, Legolas."

Legolas tipped his head to one side, strange disbelief on his face. "You do not trust me with the answer?" he asked, and then all was quiet for a moment, until he added softly, "You fear I will not like the answer."

Flynn didn't reply. She stared out at the dark ocean of trees.

Legolas pressed on, determined. "Today you asked me if you could trust me. I told you –"

"You said that if I wished to I could trust you to the ends of Middle-earth and across the sea," Flynn said. She had rolled it over in her head a thousand times that afternoon. "And I believe it. I really do. And it means a lot to me." But inwardly she knew he would indeed have to go to the very ends of this earth and beyond an endless sea if he wanted to really know the truth.

Legolas was thoughtful, formulating a different tack. Finally, he said, "And what if_ I _did not trust _you_?"

"Why would you not trust me?" Flynn felt a twinge of hurt at the notion.

"You tell me nothing of yourself, you tell me nothing of the place from whence you come to our lands, you tell me nothing of how you speak the Noble Elvish Tongue which is never known among mortals let alone most elves, you tell me nothing of why you are here, of your purpose, of your plan. For these reasons, perhaps I do not trust you."

Legolas had a point. Why _should_ he trust her? The notion that he didn't tightened around Flynn's heart just a little, and she almost wanted to tell him everything – almost. But she would not be disarmed so easily. Flynn looked him in the face. His eyes were searching, hopeful. Beautiful. It took strength for her to say, "Why must you trust me? Why can you not be satisfied with thinking that I am some fell sorcerer from afar, and leave it at that?"

Legolas's gaze never wavered and nor did his voice as he slowly replied, "Because I want to. I cannot explain it, because it does not bear words. I simply _want_ to trust you, Flynn. I do not want a reason to be suspicious. I have faith, and I want to keep it."

Flynn was suddenly overwhelmed and she turned away, the threat of tears stinging at the back of her eyes. For a moment she forgot why she was keeping anything from him at all, and she said, "I will tell you."

Legolas said nothing, hardly breathing.

Flynn squared her shoulders and turned back to him. "I will tell you precisely what I have told the apprentices about my origins, as you deserve no less. But I cannot give you more than that."

And she began the story she had formulated for the healers; she told him the name she had given for her country, the hazy details of the location she had invented, its climate, some of its customs, the name of its language, all exactly as she had recounted for the apprentices in the previous month. And as she spoke Legolas's eyes never wavered in focus upon her, and it made her feel guilty for lying. But not guilty enough to tell the whole truth.

When she had finished and a long moment had passed, Legolas said, "But how came you to learn the unknown language?"

Flynn had conveniently not covered that ground, unsure how to explain it away, but eventually she had to say something. "Remember I said that I have read a lot of healing texts from my home, and that is how I know so much though I am not a studied healer by my home's standards?"

"Yes."

"Well, it is the same for a lot of different types of knowledge. We have places called 'public libraries'. Many, hundreds of texts and books are stored there, and anyone can go there and read whatever they want. And that is how I learned this Elvish we speak now – I studied texts on the languages, and many of them included notes on the Noble Tongue, though none pieced it together into something I could learn. But there is nothing sinister about that, is there?"

"No," the Elf conceded.

"Good."

"But what of the song I heard you singing, _The Lay of Leithian_? I asked you before how you learned that because we do not commit such tales to text; rather we pass them down through song. You cannot have read the song in your books."

Flynn felt her face grow hot – she had not thought of all the bases she needed to cover, evidently. Quickly she answered with the first excuse that came into her head. "Ellos taught me that," she said. "That is why I was reluctant to tell you when you first asked me; I was embarrassed to mention him, given all you had told me."

"He did?"

She bit her lip. "Yes. Who else could?"

"It is a very long song."

Flynn's face was still. "Yes. He taught me but a verse or two."

"I would have expected him to uphold our tradition, if he is as Elf as he claims."

Flynn shrugged, trying to look casual. "Well, there are a lot of elven customs he does not respect, are there not? You have doubted his very blood, anyway."

Legolas sighed and nodded. "But tell me one last thing," he pressed.

"What is it?"

"You learned Sindarin, so it seems you knew you would come here, and of course you prepared to come here, so surely there is a reason to all this. You have a purpose here – that, I believe. But you do not tell me what it is, and I greatly wish that you would."

Flynn sighed. "You will not believe me when I say that I really had no purpose coming here, or at least, not the kind that you would deem worthy." This was true, at least. "I journeyed here, Legolas, on my own, and without provision to return, simply because I did not want to be _there_ anymore. I had no-one and nothing there which compelled me to stay. I had learned so much of this expansive land here that I felt, if only I could go elsewhere, perhaps I could find something which really called me to stay. I had no plan. So here I am."

"And have you found that something? That something which calls you to stay?"

Flynn realised suddenly that there were two things now that she would be sad to lose. The healing work was one. The radiant Elf sitting by her, smelling sweetly of pine needles was the other. But could not allow herself this growing attachment to the Elf, much less to tell him about it, and she only said, "You said yourself, healing seems to be my calling."

Legolas smirked. "I hoped you would say that."

Flynn raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Only that my heart smiles to see you find something which pleases you."

Flynn smiled in return and looked away, feeling a blush rise to her cheeks, thankful that the darkness would disguise it. "Well, I suppose we shall soon see if they let me do any more healing work. I may be thrown out of this wood yet." She chuckled, though it was no laughing matter.

Legolas shifted next to her so their arms touched, and he nudged her gently. "Everything will be as it should be," he said.

Flynn shivered, not with cold, but with the warmth of the Elf by her side. She allowed herself to relax, leaning lightly against him, feeling safe, feeling warmed by his very presence. Legolas sighed almost imperceptibly then, but not so softly that Flynn did not hear.

"There you are!" a voice suddenly rang out.

Flynn snapped to focus and spun her head in the direction of the voice. Legolas did not move. She saw Thienving appear above, a broad smile upon his face, which wavered for the briefest of moments when he saw the somewhat intimate position held by the two. Then he said, "You must come! There is a feast in your honour!"

Flynn shrugged Legolas's arm off gently and stood up quickly, confused. "What? Whose honour? Why?"

"Yours," Thienving confirmed, nodding directly at Flynn. "The elves of Lothlórien would ask that you join us in feast, to thank you for saving a life dear to us."

Legolas stood now, smiling as he watched realisation dawn on her. "The mare?" she questioned.

"Of course," Thienving replied. "She has been improving all afternoon, and is resting well as we speak. The horse masters wished to show you their great gratitude."

"I – I do not believe this," Flynn stuttered, turning back to Legolas as if he held all the answers to the mysteries of the universe.

"You should have more faith," Legolas said with a knowing smile.

Thienving held out a hand from the hillside above them and helped Flynn back up to the path. Legolas, ever nimble, sprang lightly over the rocks to join them. Soon they approached the outskirts of Caras Galadhon where Flynn's talan was built. Brennewyn stood expectantly at the base of Flynn's tree, a smile upon her face.

"Come, we shall get you dressed for tonight!" she called, and started up the stair.

Flynn looked to Legolas as if in question, but Legolas only smiled as if he knew more than he was letting on, raised an eyebrow at her, and silently continued on with Thienving. Flynn stayed for a moment, watching them leave, then slowly and suspiciously followed the lady Elf up to her talan. When she reached the top, Brennewyn was already ready for her, holding up a brilliant crimson gown to show its full glory.

"You must wear this!" Brennewyn gushed. "The colour will be so perfect for you." Flynn didn't know what to say, so she didn't say anything; she only stared, dismayed, at the dress. "I have been searching for the right gown for you all afternoon," the Elf volunteered. "I hope it is to your liking."

Flynn found her voice. "To my liking? Valar, I cannot believe it!"

Brennewyn's face was expressionless for a moment, unsure whether this was a good thing.

"It is divine," Flynn went on, now approaching the dress and gathering fabric between her fingers. "Just beautiful." She stopped handling the red velvet for a second and looked up. "Thank you so much," she said. "This is so, so thoughtful of you. But... why do I need it?"

"Because it is a _feast_," Brennewyn said incredulously. "A proper _feast. _We always go to lengths for a good feast. One must indulge in jollity with style. And not only is it any feast," she added, "it is a feast in your honour. Would you not want to look beautiful while you are celebrated?"

Flynn wondered how on earth she was going to look beautiful in a glade full of elves, but said aloud, "Of course."

"Then let us help you into this gown!"

And so Flynn let Brennewyn wrangle her out of her dress, whose back laces were impossible to negotiate on one's own, and then slipped the new gown over her head, taking care to help her injured arm into the sleeve gently. Brennewyn held up a full-length mirror, and Flynn was, for a moment, breath-taken. The dress was perfect. Its wide, scooping neck showed off the luminous décolletage she didn't know she had, and the neckline was intricately brocaded in the finest gold and black beads. It nipped in around the bust before swooping down in elegantly flowing folds to her feet. The sleeves, while tight and brocaded to the elbow, flared out in wide bells that added an ethereal effect, but would definitely get in the way later, Flynn knew. Still, for now, this dress that cast its own glow would certainly help her fit in amongst the beauty of the elves.

Brennewyn wasted no time in sitting Flynn down and procuring a comb from a satchel she had brought, and she used it to fork through Flynn's hair, which had grown messier with each passing day. She worked sweet, floral-scented oil through Flynn's tresses, which Flynn was pleased to see separated the mass into defined waves and gave her hair a shimmering quality akin to the hair of the elves. When Brennewyn was finished, Flynn looked the most well-turned-out and healthy she had looked in many weeks. She stood in front of the mirror, Brennewyn in an ethereal gold-beaded gown at her side, and they were silent, not quite believing the usually-slightly-grubby Mortal could look so fair, and beside an Elf maiden at that. Brennewyn murmured softly to herself, "How will he ever look away?"

Flynn's head whipped around. "Who?" she asked, her voice just a little too loud.

"Why, Legolas, of course," Brennewyn answered with a gay laugh.

"What do you mean? Why would he be looking at me?" Flynn feigned ignorance.

"Oh Flynn," Brennewyn said, taking Flynn's hand, "Surely you see it?"

"See what?"

"There is a fair dream in his eyes when they are upon you."

"I do not know what you mean." Flynn was growing red in the cheeks to match her gown.

Brennewyn laughed a musical, joyful laugh. "I do not know him well, but I know the things I see."

Flynn lost her tongue. Was it really that obvious? All this day she had been trying to keep her feelings for Legolas cool and level, but here was a revelation to turn all her resolve into a quivering mess.

"Come," bade Brennewyn, offering Flynn the crook of her arm. "The party awaits us."

The Elf led Flynn through the city to the great dining glade she had only seen once in her time in Lórien, and then only in passing. Then it had been just a large, round clearing lined with flowers growing all about its circumference, and populated with many long tables which seemed to grow up out of the earth. Now it was truly a spectacle and a testament to the elven love of beauty, even in these fading days. Each table was clothed in patterned silk woven with shining metallic thread, in sapphire blues, emerald greens, ruby reds, and gold and silver. The tables were lit each down the centre with a row of asymmetric candelabras as unique as the gnarled branches they were fashioned from, and surrounding these was platter upon platter of food. Around the perimeter and in between the tables, torches on slender stands threw flickering ambient light about the glade. Everything was awash in a warm glow and instrumental music wafted through the from somewhere Flynn could not identify. Elves were seated at the tables, milling about the glade chattering, and helping their glasses to the barrels of wine, setting the scene for a joyous occasion.

As Flynn entered the glade, everything quietened a notch. There were more pairs of eyes on her at one time than at any other point in her life, and for a brief moment she felt as small and vulnerable as a kitten, wishing she could run off into the darkness of the forest. Then Thienving, standing across the glade at the largest table, called out to the revellers, "All welcome Flynn, friend of the elves and great healer!"

A great cheer and a whoosh of clapping rose in the night air and Flynn, for what felt the hundredth time that day, blushed to her very forehead. But she could not help smiling. Thienving gestured her over to the table and Brennewyn led her across the dining glade as the clapping died down, the music began again, and the chattering resumed, and Flynn was relieved that her moment in the spotlight had been just that – a brief moment.

Thienving welcomed Flynn to sit at the largest of the tables, and she noticed that only when she was seated did all the other elves help themselves to the food. Arrow and Helmir were already seated, and the Man gave her a pat on the back as she sat down, congratulating her on the success of her efforts. Cilien too was seated, and looked the mortal Woman up and down in a way that made Flynn most uncomfortable, but said nothing. Flynn knew then with certainty then that Cilien would be a sticking point.

But here was a feast, her first ever real celebration since coming to Middle-earth, and it was with the elves – and incredibly, she was the reason for it. Helmir began his incessant talking almost immediately and Flynn relaxed, looking over the breads, meats, cheeses, pies, fruits and steaming bowls of vegetables in front of her, wondering what to choose first and if elves adhered to an etiquette as strict as the one in which she was raised. She decided to watch the elves around her, and as she waited for them to begin it struck her that she had not yet seen Legolas.

At the same moment this occurred to Flynn, she felt an odd tingle at the nape of her neck and looked up. He was not difficult to see. Across the glade, where Flynn had entered moments before, stood the most luminescent being she had ever set eyes upon. Gone was his green and brown travelling jerkin, now replaced with a resplendent silver-grey tunic that perfectly framed his lithe body and gave an otherworldly dignity to his pose. As Legolas stood poised on the edge of the glade surveying the scene, Flynn thought that he was unmatched by any other Elf in his beauty. She could not keep her gaze from him. In a fraction of a moment his eyes finally rested on hers, and the tingle at her neck seemed to spread up to her head and down her spine. Just one little glance – one flash of the light in his eyes – had her feeling things that she did not want to feel, and after he smiled and his gaze left hers as he moved to cross the glade, she unwittingly gave in to a slight shiver.

Legolas approached her table and Arrow, who had been seated next to Flynn, subtly removed herself and chose a different seat. Flynn noticed this, a little unnerved. Legolas sat down by her, quickly brushing her cheek with his lips as he did in a kiss that, to an outsider, would have looked like a friendly greeting but which, to Flynn, hitched the breath high up in her throat.

"You have done so well," he murmured in her ear.

"Thank you," she replied in a low whisper, wishing he would not speak in such an intimate tone with so many keen ears about, and then, to her great surprise, she was certain she felt his lips brush her ear purposefully, just lightly as he withdrew. The soft flesh buzzed like static where he had touched it and she felt her face grow hot.

Legolas's attention shifted to the other revellers and he exchanged friendly greetings with those he knew. Helmir, whose plate seemed to bear far more food than one person could eat, leaned forward for Flynn's attention and asked, "Has anyone yet told you what happened after you left us this afternoon?"

Flynn realised suddenly she had not even asked about the mare, instead getting caught up in the festivities – or was it the attentions of Legolas? She had been in the process of lifting her fork to her mouth, but she stopped, chiding herself. "No," she replied, "what did happen?"

Helmir's face lit up. "It was the most extraordinary thing! The mare's condition improved right away. I would not believe it, had I not seen it with my own eyes." At this he stopped to fill his mouth with a massive forkful. Flynn wondered where he stored all this food he ate, given that he still had a soldier's chiselled frame.

"Was it really so quick?" Flynn asked, not quite believing the words she heard.

Helmir nodded, his mouth still full, and Arrow offered, "It really was swift. Her eyes were soon more lively, and by sundown she was entirely restless. She would not be coddled or fussed over."

Flynn knew if the transfusion worked, recovery would only be a matter of hours, but this was miraculous. So the mare's brother had been the best match after all! She gave herself pause to enjoy the feeling of triumph, but it was short-lived when she glanced across the table and saw Cilien's ice-blue eyes boring holes into her. The master healer said nothing, and Flynn, greatly uncomfortable, shifted her gaze, glancing around the table. All seated there appeared jolly, eating and chatting freely and lifting their goblets to the ewer of wine which was being offered around the table. There was a feeling of great merriment, as though the inhabitants of Lórien had not had anything resembling a party in quite some time.

When all the goblets were filled, Thienving lifted his own and proposed a toast to Flynn, and in response the elves said, "Hear, hear!" and drank deeply of the wine. It was sweeter and richer than the wine Flynn knew from home, and it warmed her belly.

After a moment, Cilien raised her own goblet and said, "And let us not forget to toast the work of the other healers, without whom we would have had no success at alltoday."

Flynn and the apprentices shifted uncomfortably, but Thienving, oblivious, and Legolas, smoothing over the bite behind Cilien's tone, again raised their drinks and toasted. The apprentices followed. Brennewyn quickly turned to conversation elsewhere, and addressed the Elf at Flynn's side. "Legolas, do you plan to stay a while in Lórien?"

"That will depend on the welcome of the friends I have here," he replied with a grin, and under the table ever so gently brushed Flynn's leg as he moved his hand from his knee to his goblet on the table, so that she did not know whether it was intentional or not.

"Such foolish words!" Thienving said merrily. "Your welcome here extends beyond the number of sunsets we have even the minds to count, friend!" At this he gave Legolas a slap on the back and offered his goblet for Legolas to clink.

Brennewyn asked, "Where is it that you stay, then, while you are with us? Surely not with Thienving? You would hardly get past his sword collection to fit yourself in!" She winked at Thienving in jest.

"No, indeed; there are more dangers in staying with Thienving than in resting in the open, by my reckoning," Legolas said. Thienving laughed so uproariously that Flynn wondered if he wasn't already a bit drunk. Legolas went on, "I shall stay in the west part, in a talan that Thienving was good enough to find for me. My bow may be there, but fortunately there are no swords."

"Yet!" Thienving added, laughing to himself and tearing a loaf of bread in half.

Flynn felt an uncomfortable tightness in her belly with this conversation. Legolas had his duties in Ithilien, she knew, and he would surely leave again, just as she had tried to guard herself against. Then she would have to say goodbye again, just as she had wished would never come to pass. She withdrew her bottom lip subconsciously, and was grateful when the conversation moved on when Helmir began one of his stories, this one involving some ancestor of his jumping atop a warg and riding it bareback to bring it down – and doing so successfully, no less. Flynn laughed though she had heard this one before and she doubted the truth of it, but her mind lingered on Legolas. She drank down the wine and soaked in the atmosphere of the night.

Elves who had finished eating began to fill the empty spaces between the tables, dancing slowly to a gently lilting song filtering through the glade. Flynn's focus glazed a little, her head tingling with the wine, enjoying the song and the clear singing voice ringing out with worlds in Quenya that she did not fully understand, despite what Legolas might think. When Legolas gently gave her knee a little squeeze under the table, she smiled to herself without knowing it. The Elf caught her smile from this corner of his eye and could not help but smile, himself.

Cilien's voice cut through Flynn's happy haze. "So you wish to be a healer among our ranks now, Flynn?" she asked.

Flynn measured her response. "I only wish to help," she replied.

"And you _have_ helped!" Helmir offered cheerfully.

"Indeed, you have helped enough," Cilien said. "But do you not feel this is a little beyond you now? My apprentices have been training for many years. Surely you would fall behind if you tried to fall in step with them now."

Flynn resolved not to quail under Cilien's tone, even if it wasn't her place to force her presence upon these kind elves. If she did not have the healing work, she had very little at all, and she said, "On the contrary; I think I have proven myself to be very close to the level of your apprentices, thanks to our seemingly similar educations."

"You presume to be as skilled and as learned as my apprentice healers?" Cilien's tone and the tense arch of her eyebrow implied that if Flynn were to answer in the affirmative, there would be hell to pay.

Flynn _did_ think she was at the level of the healers – if she was not better – but if she were going to learn anything in Lórien, she had to choose her words carefully. "I only say that it is very fortuitous that in my own homeland I seem to have stumbled upon great healing texts and lore, and that your apprentices have found it by purpose and study. The two roads seem to lead to the same thing, or a similar thing. I do not presume to know more than anyone here." Well, the last sentence was a lie – which one Elf at the table already knew, and he had to keep from grinning – but it would do, and Flynn added, "But I have no experience in practice and I do wish I had the opportunity to learn."

Cilien appeared, for a brief moment, stumped. Then she took up her goblet in a graceful hand, and before taking a sip, said, "We shall see."

Legolas turned to her and offered his hand. "Would you care to dance, my lady?" he asked, cutting through the unwitting stare that Flynn bore down on the healer, who had turned her head and looked away, finished with the conversation.

Flynn decided that yes, she really did want to go and dance with him among the elves of Lórien to the festive tune that rang out through the glade. When would she have that kind of chance again? "I would love to," she replied. She took his hand and let him lead her to the open area, Legolas taking a quick glance back at Flynn as she carefully picked her way through the tables, smiling.

The song shifted gear to a much slower pace and the revellers gathered in pairs and a slow dance began. Legolas caught Flynn up in his arms, one hand at her waist and another taking her good hand in a pose surprisingly like the standard dancing position she knew from home. She rested her hand around his neck and he looked into her eyes, a serious expression upon his face.

"You look beautiful," he said, very softly so that the elves might not hear, though in all likelihood they would.

Voice barely above a whisper, Flynn replied, "Thank you," and could not suppress a coy smile. She glanced down at herself briefly and said, "It must be this dress; Brennewyn found it for me. In fact, everything you see here is her good work."

Legolas smiled a very slow smile and leaned down to her ear and murmured, "I did not say I was talking about tonight."

Flynn stole a slow breath, unsteady in her mind, and could not find the voice to say anything at all. Legolas rested his head against hers, pulled her close, and moved with the mortal Woman, giving her out to a gentle spin here and there, which made her grin, and even dipping her, which made both laugh outright as she struggled to keep her footing. Reeling back in was the fun part, Flynn taking in Legolas's scent as they came together once again – a scent which for some reason conjured the word 'green' in her mind – and relishing his cheek against hers. There was such beauty in dancing with an Elf, these beings who concentrated their focus into everything they did, and rather than feeling clumsy or awkward as she sometimes did when dancing, Legolas guided her gently and let every movement be fluid and simple.

Flynn wished it did not feel so wonderful being close to him, moving with him, being warmed by him, feeling his chest expand into and draw away from hers as he breathed. The glade around them seemed to blur and turn into a heady liquid as the wine set her senses mingling and the Elf with whom she danced pulled her focus in to this little space they carved out between the others in the glade. Legolas's face was close at her cheek and one subtly pointed ear danced into her vision, right where her hand rested upon his neck and, almost hypnotised, she reached up and touched the apex of his ear, and ran a finger down its length. The Elf shivered – just a little – and squeezed her closer. She closed her eyes. The song ended. They held for a moment, but the real world around them came rushing in and it was Flynn who pulled away first: Cilien was at Legolas's shoulder.

"I thought I might have this dance." Cilien addressed Legolas.

He took a slow breath and replied, "Certainly," and Flynn moved away, not looking back as the two elves – certainly once lovers, Flynn now knew – moved to the slightly more festive tune.

Flynn took a seat by Brennewyn and Arrow moved in next to her. Brennewyn looked at Flynn expectantly, excitement dancing in her eyes.

"What?" implored Flynn.

"He asked you to dance, Flynn!"

"So? He is dancing with Cilien now. And then he will dance with someone else. And you will dance with someone, and what will we make of that? It is normal to dance with someone when they ask you."

Brennewyn gave an exasperated sigh. "Very well."

Flynn saw the error in her own tone, and continued, "I do not mean to be rude, and I am very sorry if I was. But all I am saying is that perhaps there is too much being read into it. You seem to think Legolas's attentions for me are more than within the bounds of friendship, but what if this is not true? How foolish we will feel then!" But she did not believe this herself.

Brennewyn gave Arrow a look that said she couldn't possibly be wrong. Arrow tilted her head to the side in a half-shrug. Helmir, still at the table but absorbed in watching the elven dancers, now turned back to the ladies and leaned across the table. "What is such a secret over here?" he asked with a mischievous grin.

"Nothing," Flynn said quickly. "We were just thinking about joining in the dancing, were we not?" she added, addressing the elves now.

Arrow looked, for a moment, horrified at the idea of having to dance, but Brennewyn laughed and stood, taking both women by the hands, and, "Yes!" she agreed, pulling them into the centre of the glade and weaving them into a dance. It was a folk dance, Flynn thought; it twirled and dipped and stepped lightly in and out of a pattern that Flynn caught on to quickly and Arrow recollected reluctantly. Soon they were red-faced and laughing and trying hard not to bump into one another as they wove their circular dance.

Brennewyn introduced complex moves into the dance, and stepping out of formation, hitched her arm into the crook of the elbow of an Elf on the outskirts, and swung him around, catching him up in their dance. Arrow, familiar with this move, gave in to Brennewyn's whim and skipped out, doing the same, weaving another stray male in, and again and again they wove more dancers into their pattern like a knot. Flynn caught on, the wine loosening her inhibitions. She lured elves she had never even seen before into this well-remembered folk dance they all seemed happy to join, and then, skipping out again, her arm clutching at an elbow – any elbow – to rein in, she was suddenly whisked away, spinning in the other direction, being pulled away from the other dancers, and faster and faster she spun, caught up in the arms of somebody – who? – and then she smelled the masculine muskiness of Legolas and caught the flurry of flaxen hair whirling with her. Then he slowed her a little, and he grinned as she panted for breath and her face flushed a hot red.

"Are you having fun?" he asked, mirth upon his face, still leading her around the glade in time with the music, carefully forking through the other dancers.

"This is wonderful!" she replied.

"I am glad you are enjoying yourself. You deserve some merriment."

Flynn smiled but her thoughts strayed when she saw Cilien still sitting at their table, the stem of a goblet balancing between her fingers. The healer seemed to think Flynn was unworthy of even the company of the healers, let alone access to their texts and practices. Legolas sensed her becoming tense as she let these unwelcome thoughts in, and he squeezed her hand resting within his, and quickened the pace of their dancing. All over the glade he led her, their feet stepping into an easy rhythm and his strong arms twirling her here, dipping her there, wrapping her up in a sensuous dance and capturing her eyes with his.

The slow, sweet tones of a dulcimer and a lute mingled with the gentle trill of flutes, and a resonant drum seemed to alter the beat in Flynn's veins. This elven wine was powerful stuff – or was it the heady rush of Legolas's breath and touch? She only knew her skin was warm all over and her vision was pleasantly foggy, giving everything a warm haze. Sweat beaded on her skin as the Elf's persistence and stamina pressed her to keep dancing, keep moving with him, glancing back to his eyes and away, shied by the intensity she saw there.

The night was darker and she had no idea how many songs – or hours – had lapsed when they slowed to a stop, though the music continued. Legolas led her back to their table, which was empty now, all the partygoers joining in the dance – although somehow Flynn doubted Cilien was involved. He drew a chair for her and sat her down, then pulled out a chair of his own and sat opposite her, their knees touching. "You stumble a little," he said. "I thought to give you respite for a moment; perhaps you are tired?"

Flynn hadn't noticed she had been stumbling. Was she more drunk than she thought? "I am probably tired," she admitted, "but I think it might be this Elf wine also."

Legolas grinned. "I forget that it always has a stronger effect on men than elves."

"And women, too, apparently."

"Women, yes. Forgive me, my tongue is not accustomed to making the distinction."

Some naughty part of Flynn's tipsy mind found that statement very funny, and she snickered. Legolas cocked an eyebrow at her until, catching on, he seemed to blush, if elves could even do so, and he looked away, suppressing a smile. Suddenly Flynn felt very weary, and she rested her elbow against the table, her head on her hand. Legolas marked her exhaustion. "Would you like me to escort you to your bed?" he asked softly.

Flynn looked up at him with the tired eyes of a child awake long past its bedtime. "Would you please?" she said. Legolas helped her to stand, and led her away from the revellers and the music and the ambient candlelight, into the dark forest. She grew sleepier as he led her to her talan, which she suspected she would not have been able to find on her own in the dark. He remained behind her as she ascended the stairs, her personal bodyguard. Flynn r headed straight for a cushioned stool, flopping down with a whoosh of breath. Legolas remained at the entry arch, leaning against it in an unusually relaxed stance for the Elf, watching her. She grabbed a ribbon from her dressing bench and collected all her hair up in it, winding it around and around and tying it off in a bow. "Could you help me a moment?" she asked softly.

- - - - -

Legolas straightened smoothly and crossed the platform. "Anything," he said.

Flynn turned so her back was to him, the criss-cross lacing of her dress spanning her back, right down to a 'V' that ended at the base of her spine. "Could you help me out of this? I cannot reach the laces," she requested.

The Elf dutifully untied the bow between her shoulder blades and, steadying one hand against her waist, carefully loosened the laces in their silver grommets. His fingers brushed against her through the fabric, and his keen eyes in the dark picked out the goose pimples that rose to her skin. She radiated a kind of warmth unfamiliar to him, an intensity not found among the elves. There was a feeling of time running out like a fast-burning fuse, so unlike the slow receding of the time of his people.

Legolas knew all too well that the age of the elves was ending. His race was like the dying embers of a once great inferno, and now was the time for men to reign. He wondered if Flynn was aware of just how important her race was about to become. And did she know that, though immortal, these elves she kept company with would not be around forever? And that he would not be in Lórien forever, either? He had to return to Ithilien soon, for he could not leave his people without their lord. Besides, Gimli would surely be there by now, waiting for him. He had asked his friend to come to Ithilien to visit with him, knowing he would need the Dwarf's broad shoulder to lean on after the harrowing task of repeating, over and over, that the great king was dead.

Legolas had told Flynn nothing of this yet. He had been keeping this at the back of his mind, and he grimaced to think of it. Not tonight. It had been so wonderful he hated to spoil it. The Elf had paused with his hand still curled around the laces at the base of her spine, caught by his thoughts, and Flynn turned a little.

"Is something the matter?" she asked softly.

Legolas withdrew his hands quickly. "No," he replied as her eyes searched his, and he felt them sweeping through him, searching for answers, and he found himself wholly uncomfortable with how far in to him she seemed to see. "I must go," he said hastily. Flynn nodded, and he turned and disappeared down the stairs.

The Elf, soon doubling back after chiding himself for leaving the lady in such a hurry, glided soundlessly up the stairs to her talan, but found her already sleep, one bare shoulder peeking out from the bedspread. He moved to the very edge of the talan, balancing there with his heels just on the edge of a long fall to the ground, and watched her sleeping while light threatened from outside. He stayed until dawn.


	14. Cilien

**14 – CILIEN**

Thanks to her tense encounter with Cilien, the week spent among the apprentice healers was awkward and stilted. She continued to join them for their text study in the mornings, since they did this independent of the master healer, but she could not face Cilien to request permission to join their afternoon practical teachings. Despite inwardly berating her childishness, Flynn found reasons to be elsewhere for this time of day. Had she not spoken brave words to Cilien that night at the banquet, words that made it seem as though she was up to the challenge of working with the healer? But she had backed off following sobriety's return and the harsh light of day. If Cilien had believed that Flynn had even an inch of backbone that night, surely she was laughing now. Elven wine and its false courage, be damned.

Every afternoon Flynn left the apprentice healers with the excuse of tending to her washing or tidying her talan, and instead she wandered the solemn Lórien wood for a while, thinking. How on earth was she going to confront Cilien now and ask to be allowed to practise with the others, when she had so obviously been avoiding the healer? Flynn knew if she had just turned up to the afternoon sessions immediately then Cilien would have appreciated her eagerness to learn. But now the master healer would know that Flynn was afraid of her, and that gave the Elf much power.

Flynn was beginning to wonder if there wasn't another reason to avoid Cilien, other than being intimidated by the Elf; something strong enough that she would risk effectively thwarting her chances of becoming a proper apprentice. She had felt something that night, when Cilien had cut in to her dance with Legolas and led him away. Flynn regarded the two elves dancing, their fair faces radiating in kind, and felt the most uncomfortable pang of jealousy run through her. But Legolas wasn't hers to stake a claim upon. She had no right to be anything even resembling jealous. Nonetheless the elven prince remained on her mind.

It did not help that Legolas had been turning up in locations all over Lórien just when Flynn thought she was alone. On the first day he gently reminded her that it was not safe to wander the woods alone and unprotected, which she rebuked. On the second day he offered to take her for a leisurely ride around Lórien, and they did so more or less silently on his horse, and they ate a picnic lunch by the Celebrant stream. He asked her why she was not with the apprentices, and she told him directly that she was being cowardly and deliberately avoiding Cilien. Flynn was grateful that he did not push the issue. On the third day he watched her stalk around Lórien frustratedly, and left her when she finally returned to her talan and actually did attempt some of the cleaning she had claimed to have been doing all along, sweeping away the leaves which seemed constantly to fall in Lórien wood. On the fourth day he asked her if she wanted to learn something new, and she agreed to let him drag her out to the archery practise field.

The field smelled of new grass, reminding Flynn her that high summer approached quickly, and that she did not want to spend a Middle-earth summer in the cool Lórien wood if the unpleasantness festering there was only going to add to the gloom. Legolas, in full brown and green Wood-Elf regalia arrived with two quivers and bows slung upon his back. He set off down the field.

"Can I help you carry anything?" Flynn offered, trotting after him and gathering the skirts of her periwinkle dress as she moved through the long, wild grass.

"Not at all," he answered, soldiering on though the two quivers and two bows must surely have been heavy on his back.

Flynn was beginning to feel a little patronised by the Elf who followed her around claiming to watch out for her and now seemed to think she was incapable of load bearing. She hated to feel like the little woman. Catching up to the Elf she caught him by the elbow, halting him. "Please just let me be useful, would you?" she said.

Legolas stared at her for a moment, then relented and shrugged off the bow and quiver and helped her fix the straps properly on her back for comfort. The bow itself was surprisingly heavy for its shape and flexibility, though not too heavy to carry, but the quiver itself was light. Flynn wondered from where he had purloined these items. They set off again and Flynn could see a neat row of standing targets at the far end of the field, straw-stuffed pallets with concentric circles of red and yellow painted on them.

"Why are the targets down there?" she asked.

The Elf seemed hesitant for a moment, then replied, "Well, since you are so keen not to be unequal, I am slightly afraid to say that we are approaching them this near for your benefit. Our archers can hit the targets from the other end of the field, but I do not expect a beginner to quite manage that."

"Oh."

"I hope the lady is not offended," he ventured with a grin.

"Well, after all, I have never done this before," she said.

"I do not expect you have," he said, halting and setting his quiver and bow down against a large stone painted with a symbolic indication that this was the halfway point down the field. "Even in the place called Stralis."

Flynn froze internally, wondering how much to read into his tone. She forced a smile and said, "No, indeed. You could say archery is not our best defence." She suspected ignoring mention of her fake homeland would only arouse more suspicion and mistrust. Marking his actions with his weapons she asked, "Shall I put these down?"

"No, keep them on. You will learn the proper way." Legolas approached her and motioned for her to hand the bow over, which she did. He produced a pair of leather wrist bracers and a pair of leather gloves and gently took her injured hand. There were still remnants of the bruises on her skin, but they were fading. He wrapped the bracer around this wrist and attached it by the hook-and-eye closures along its length. "Does this hurt?" he asked softly as he worked the closures, and she shook her head. Flynn offered her other arm to him and he affixed the other bracer. She looked down at her wrists when he was done – the bracers were a little too big for her small forearms but they seemed tight enough. Shaking her arms a little she tried to loosen up, feeling already slightly more of an archer with this special armour.

Legolas went about setting up her posture. The Elf stood behind her with his long arms around her, guiding Flynn's hands, assisting her to nock the arrow into the string, one finger above the arrow and two below. She then pulled the arrow back so the string was taut, and raised the bow, her own hand and Legolas's both brushing her face, just down by the corner of her mouth. She bit back the smile threatening at his touch.

Flynn was surprised by how difficult it was to hold the whole apparatus upright and still keep the arrow nocked, and on first raising the bow her strength failed, and the arrow fell clean off the string and hit the ground flatly. She laughed, and Legolas helped her nock the arrow again, and outlined the shape of the muscles in her back, showing her how to use the strength there to keep the bow raised instead of stressing her hand and forearm so much. For the next few tries she managed to keep the apparatus held up as Legolas made small adjustments to her stance. She drew the string as tightly as she could, then let go.

Flynn felt a tiny jolt of success when the arrow, instead of thumping to the ground a few feet in front of her, whizzed through the air, far enough to hit the targets but without any sense of aim. It flew through the space between two targets and harmlessly pierced the ground beyond. Legolas chuckled softly, a laugh he seldom made, a laugh which Flynn had come to know meant he was totally relaxed; a sweet laugh. She smiled to herself and drew an arrow from the quiver on her back.

"Your strength of shot is impressive," the Elf commented. "It is to be expected that your aim needs work, but I was not counting on you having such range."

"What can I say?" Flynn replied with a wry grin, nocking the arrow once again and lifting the bow. "Women are stronger than you think."

Legolas made his adjustments to her pose again, and this time took a hold of the bow below where her hand clutched it, and mirrored her arrow hand with his own. Flynn could feel him all around her, his chest warm against her back in the cool afternoon. Her concentration wavered. The Elf's cheek was against hers now as he aligned her sight and set her arrow on course for the target, cautioning her to keep her face out of the path of the fletching. He counted down from three ever so softly, and she loosed the arrow. It shot free with a sharp whoosh and pierced the edge of the outermost circle on the target, shuddering on impact. Flynn clapped with glee and Legolas smiled proudly.

They continued on this way, with Legolas lining her up for each shot. Flynn's arrows drew closer and closer to the centre of the target the more aligned they became with each other and with Legolas's own perfect aim influencing her. There was no sound in the still afternoon but for the intermittent whizzing of an arrow and the thwack as it hit the target, and a triumphant squeal from Flynn or a murmured instruction from Legolas. The sun drew low and midges flitted about in the shafts of sun streaming down through the trees at the edge of the field. Flynn felt a peaceful calm that was miles away from the tension knotting in her belly whenever she thought of Cilien and the possibility that every moment she spent avoiding the Elf healer was dashing her hopes of achieving something she had never been able to before.

Legolas gradually moved away from Flynn as she practised, allowing her to find her own style. He fetched her arrows from the target when she had used them all up and she enjoyed having him as a retriever, and watching his amusingly prance-like, noiseless trot back and forth across the field. She started to become comfortable with the bow and was pleased to find that her weaker arm did not hurt at all as long as she kept the bow in that hand. It was her arrow hand that really took a beating, though she thanked the tough gloves, making it easier to keep nocking the arrows without rubbing the skin raw. Flynn's concentration grew more intense the better she got at hitting the target, aiming for the smudged, ochre-coloured circle that marked the dead centre of the target.

Legolas, noting her stiff concentration, decided she could be left to her own devices, and took up his own bow, leaving the quiver leaning, and nonchalantly went about practising his own shot on the next target in the row. For a moment this put Flynn off, as every arrow he shot hit dead centre, though he seemed to line himself up with the weapon with such ease, appearing so casual that it seemed impossible he should hit any part of the target. But there he was, knocking even his own arrows out of the target as each shot failed to miss. More determined to hit the centre, she set herself a challenge to achieve at least one bull's eye with the final three arrows remaining in her quiver.

Flynn carefully nocked the first and raised the bow, pouring all her concentration into her sight, her pose and the line she held from the arrow all the way down to the target. The noise of Legolas's arrows singing faded away as she grimaced with focus. Tension built up within her, readying her, and at the last moment she let the arrow fly. It landed with a satisfying thud inside the outermost circle. Not terrible, but not good enough. She tried again with the penultimate arrow, but this time her focus failed momentarily and the arrow shot wide, zinging into the next to outermost circle of the target. Flynn cursed softly to herself. Legolas had by now ceased practising, his curiosity piqued by the intensity pouring off her, but Flynn did not notice him watching her as she nocked the final arrow. Legolas's earlier instructions danced in her ears and she breathed deeply, trying to find the focus to get this last shot just perfect.

- - - - -

Legolas watched, partly amused, and partly willing Flynn to hit the mark right where she wanted to. Feeling the urge to do something the elves rarely did in the presence of mortals, he called up his _fëa_, his life-energy as described by the elves, and felt it in a ball of positive energy at the base of his spine. It began to pulse through him, looking for a release, and he crossed, very quickly and entirely silently, behind her, to within touching distance though she did not notice. Flynn had pulled the bowstring as tightly as it would draw, and she was about to loose it when he touched the fabric of her dress, very lightly, sending his energy to her, willing it through her. A split second later there was an almighty crack as the arrow hit the straw target with full force, piercing straight through it to the wooden backing. Flynn narrowed her eyes, checking its position. It had hit dead centre.

- - - - -

Flynn threw the bow down and whooped with glee, jumping up and down and looking around for Legolas, who was then strangely right behind her, and she clapped excitedly as a wide grin overtook his face. Triumphantly she chanted, "I hit the bull's eye! I hit the bull's eye!" Flynn took his hands and danced a merry jumping jig, and he laughed and set one hand on his hip as he raised his other arm with her hand in his, prompting her to twirl, and she did. As he reined her back in she caught the gap in his elbow with her own, and pulled him around in a two-person strip-the-willow, until she was breathless from laughing, and lost her footing, and unwittingly dragged him down into the long grass with her.

When she had recovered from the short shock of falling, her face cracked into a grin again and she burst into giggles and grabbed the Elf laying on top of her and rolled him, pinning him to his back as she tried to get back up to her feet. But the Elf had other ideas. He buzzed still with the adrenaline of gathering up his _fëa_, and he caught her as she began to lift herself, rolled her in turn, and was back on top of her in an instant. Flynn stopped laughing. There was a darkness in his eyes, an intensity of focus that was almost intimidating. But more than that, it was truly something else, something remarkable, something... arousing?

Flynn's chest rose but did not fall; her breath caught. A zephyr ruffled the grass gently, and Legolas ran one slender hand softly over the side of her face, catching his fingers up in her hair and twisting loose strands through them. Flynn bit her lip, the softness of his touch turning her muscles to liquid, and she let her breath back out. His hand trailed down to her jaw line and across her collarbone. She looked in his eyes and saw need the colour of a stormy sea, and felt his breath now upon her face, sweet and warm, and smelled him, all woods and musk. Flynn's breath deepened and her heart pounded in her throat. For a moment time stopped and she knew that she could not have resisted even if she wanted to, and then the Elf brought his mouth down, just barely grazing her lips with his own. Then he kissed her.

Legolas's kiss was soft and purposeful, and Flynn took but a moment to catch her bearings before she could kiss him back. He tasted sweet, and as the feelings rushing from him like vapour overtook her she found her hands gripping his sides, then running through his long hair and messing with the braids she found. He smiled at her for a moment, before descending on her with another kiss, which she returned fiercely, and then rolled him on to his back once again – and this time he let her stay there. As she bent to kiss him again, now sweetly, from his noble forehead to the tip of his nose and finally to his beautiful lips, he reached up and ran his hands down the sides of her body, before his hands moved to her throat and then slid outwards, where he gently slipped her dress off her shoulders, exposing her collarbones. Flynn's breath caught in her throat, momentarily surprised by his forwardness, but then she found herself tugging at the laces that closed the sides of his tunic.

Legolas sat up then, Flynn straddling his lap, and brought his face up to kiss her, taking her hands in his and bringing them in front of him. He looked down and carefully worked on the bracers, undoing the closures and gently removing them from her arms. She rubbed her forearms in turn, not realising how tight the bracers had been. Legolas caught the back of her hands in his palms, his fingers interlocking with hers, and kissed each palm, then the inside of each wrist. His breath slowed a little as he did this, and her own heartbeat receded a little too, as he slowly kissed little sparks down the pale undersides of her arms. He drew her close, nibbling a trail along her collarbone and bare shoulder. With Legolas's face slightly apart from Flynn's, she had just a moment's pause to think, and it suddenly occurred to her that this was something she had been telling herself for a long time to resist with all of her will. This was something she had been reminding herself could never work. Unwittingly, she sighed, and the Elf stopped dead in his tracks.

"What is it?" Legolas asked softly. Flynn said nothing, only drawing in a deep breath and sighing out quietly again. "You are afraid that we cannot do this," the Elf ventured, now searching her eyes.

Flynn shook her head softly in reply, and then, "For so many reasons," she murmured, more to herself than to Legolas.

The Elf nodded gently. "You would be right."

Flynn removed herself from his lap and sat cross-legged beside him. There was a long silence, and then she said, "I do not think you should follow me anymore, even to protect me. Perhaps it is not a good idea. I will make sure I am escorted if I feel unsafe."

Legolas nodded tersely. In a moment he drew himself up to standing and for the first time Flynn felt as if he towered over her. He crossed to where they had left the weapons and beckoned for her to come, and she slowly approached him. The Elf presented to her the quiver and bow she had been using. "I want you to have these," he said. A gift? Flynn didn't know if now was a good time to be accepting a gift from this Elf. But before she could say anything Legolas added, "Do not think of it as a lover's gift. I only want for you to be able to protect yourself in these woods. If I am not to protect you, then I trust no-one else to. Give yourself a chance."

Flynn relented and accepted and, shouldering the quiver, said, "Thank you. I had best go." Legolas was looking clear into her eyes now, silent, and she could not stand it for another moment, so she spun and left, her legs making soft swishing sounds through the long grass as she went.

Legolas watched her leave, and he remained on the practise field until the sun was gone, shooting arrows aggressively into the target, never missing a shot until at last he split one of his arrows with another, and, wrenching the rest of them from the target frustratedly, he stalked off into the woods.

- - - - -

That night Flynn decided she had to bite the bullet with Cilien. Without Legolas to distract her she had no excuse for shifting her focus from healing. The next day she attended morning text studies with the apprentices, and decided to simply show up at the afternoon practical lesson and see what Cilien said, if anything. The elves seemed to sense that something had shifted in her energy, and they made allusions to their afternoon work, which was to involve studying the structure of a peacock's feathers and how a bird of its size managed to fly – albeit weakly – and they mentioned that she would certainly enjoy it. Brennewyn was not as subtle as most elves, and Flynn took this to mean that Brennewyn expected her to attend in the afternoon.

So Flynn did. She took lunch in the glade with the apprentices, and noticed how with spring ending there were peacocks and peahens wandering around the glade in Lórien, the male's long tails hindering their walk and setting them waddling awkwardly around in pursuit of the peahens. Flynn couldn't help but feel they were mocking her and her confused love life.

Helmir said that the mating season had begun recently, and the birds were appearing out of the blue from wherever they had spent the colder months. So this healing stuff was to be a biology lesson, too? It was a wonder they had not separated the sciences out. It seemed logical that the elves did not have enough to do with healing disease and injury to warrant a full apprenticeship, but surely mortal medicine was more advanced? At that moment it occurred to Flynn that humans were only just now becoming the dominant race; the time of highly sophisticated medicine was yet to come – and she could be a part of it. The prospect excited her.

The healer had managed to capture a brilliantly plumed peacock, and it sat sedately on her lap calmly gazing about. Cilien stared at Flynn as soon as Flynn reached her talan, and said abruptly, "I thought you had given up on the notion that you could be a healer."

The apprentices sat down quietly.

Flynn replied, "Not at all. I have just been... detained for a few days." Then she lied: "I had insisted that Legolas teach me some defence and weaponry." Did Cilien's eyes narrow just then? "I apologise that I have not been able to come sooner. I hope you will still let me stay."

Cilien took a long moment, in which she glanced at the apprentices, who Flynn could swear made pleading eyes at the healer. "Very well, then," she finally said.

Flynn stemmed an exhalation of relief, and sat by Brennewyn. The lesson was long and strangely interesting, the most remarkable peculiarity being how the peacock allowed Cilien to handle it so freely, lifting a wing here, opening its mouth there, turning it this way and that to display its anatomical features. She wanted to ask if Cilien had sedated it or if elves were just naturally this harmonious in their relationships with animals, but she feared Cilien would regard the question with disdain. Fortunately, the only other Mortal on the talan piped up with the very same question, and Helmir did indeed receive the trademark look given by all teachers to nuisance students, as Cilien explained that she had slipped sedative into the bird's food. Later after the lesson, Brennewyn told Flynn that elves should normally have such an easy commune with animals that no sedative should be needed, but that Cilien had always been far too tightly strung for animals to be at ease with her. Flynn and Brennewyn both giggled at this.

So Cilien allowed Flynn to attend the afternoon sessions that she took, though Flynn was rarely drawn into the conversation and Cilien never called on her for answers, despite the fact that Flynn knew the vast bulk of Cilien's teachings already. Flynn found it difficult to hide just how much she knew, wanting desperately to prove to this healer that she was more than capable of becoming an official apprentice, yet fearing that Cilien, more than most people, would despise a young upstart.

So Flynn kept quiet, and nodded often and tried to look interested. In fact Cilien ignored her most of the time; that is, except for the day, a fortnight after her first attendance at the afternoon sessions, when Flynn was the last person at Cilien's talan. She was in the midst of trying in vain to stuff all her notes into her trusty backpack, which was looking much worse for wear and didn't fit as much in it as Flynn would have liked anymore. When the apprentices had reached the forest floor and were out of hearing range, Cilien, draped elegantly over a divan and dressed in pale lavender, remarked slowly in her deep velvet voice, "I see Legolas has ceased his foolish pursuit."

Flynn stood bolt upright, her back to Cilien, and turned tentatively. "Excuse me?" she questioned slowly.

"You know of what I speak," the healer replied, her tone somewhere between purring and accusing. "I feared for the poor Elf for a moment there, thinking he was under some foolish enchantment, following you around, his attention always yours... that sickening look in his eyes." Cilien almost spat the word 'sickening'. "But I am gladdened to see you have both come to your senses." She smiled a horribly saccharine smile that Flynn wanted to slap right off her face.

Flynn cleared her throat, her hackles already raised. "I do not see how it is any of your business."

Cilien's sweet smile turned to a self-satisfied one as she said, "Elf kind must protect Elf kind."

Flynn's eyes flashed, fire sparking up behind them. "Legolas is a fully grown Man. I mean Elf. I doubt very much that he needs protection – by you or anybody."

The Elf sat up a little straighter. "Yet it seems he needs protection _from_ somebody. Somebody who threatens to upturn his entire standing among us elves. We do not look well upon one of our own... mingling, shall we say, with one of yours. You should know that well."

This was not news to Flynn and, growing hot with anger at the healer's blatant intrusion on her private life, she said, "I am well aware of the general opinion on the matter, Cilien," then, playing coy, added, "but I do not know why you tell _me _this."

The inflamed healer stood, lightning fast and with frightening fluidity, and stopped inches from Flynn's face in a second. "You know precisely why I tell you this," she hissed. "Legolas could never really love you. Not the way he could love an _Elf_."

Flynn gritted her teeth, willing her hands to stay by her sides though she wanted for all the world to throttle Cilien right then and there. How dare she tell Flynn how to live? She briefly considered playing her trump card: that Legolas had actively pursued _her_, not the other way around. But did she risk inflaming Cilien further and totally obliterating her chances to become a healer? Flynn couldn't do that, as much as it pained her not to teach Cilien a thing or two and set the record straight. Instead she said, "It is a little hasty to talk of love, do you not think?"

"So you presume to know his heart?"

"His heart?" Did Cilien imply that Legolas's feelings were stronger than Flynn imagined?

Cilien laughed haughtily. "Well. It is lucky for him, then, that you are so acutely dim to it."

Flynn's adrenaline was rising, and she said, "Unlike _some_, I do not presume to know the true feelings of others. I prefer to let them speak for themselves."

"Then you will remain truly ignorant," Cilien remarked, her voice lowering. "So be it. But know, Flynn, if you do ever wizen and open your eyes, that some unions are – and rightly should be – doomed. If you care one tiny jot for Legolas, you will banish any thought of ever being _anything_ but his friend. His lowly, servile, mortal friend." She drew this last sentence out, punctuating each adjective so that Flynn's heart lurched, pierced by each word in turn.

Flynn quickly bent and grabbed her pack with rough haste, finding that this sudden attack on the wondrous Elf – the one she had grown such affection for, but cast away when the feeling grew too strong – made her determined as steel to fight for him. He had avoided her as she wished, and she already keenly felt the lack of his presence. It seemed one's need and longing only grew fiercer when one's treasures were threatened, and Legolas seemed, somehow and inexplicably, to be one of her treasures. She stopped on the first stair and turned back to Cilien, who seethed visibly. "If he does not love any Mortal," Flynn said before pausing, staring down the sharp-faced Elf; "then he certainly does not love any _Elf_."

Flynn trotted down the stairs quickly, fearing that last comment would send Cilien down after her blood. But the Elf remained, still as glass, clutching her seat's wooden edge, her knuckles turning white.

- - - - -

Flynn strode angrily through the wood in a beeline for her talan, feeling tears stinging hotly at the back of her eyes, assailed not by anger at Cilien, but at herself. After all, what did it matter to her that Cilien disapproved of her growing close to Legolas? Had Flynn not, after all, decided herself that it was best to stay away from him?

And yet she knew in her heart that this was not what she wanted. It hurt that the stunning she-Elf had laid it all out so blatantly. Flynn could see clearly now that being told she could not have this pretty gem of a prince only made her want him more – or more truthfully, it made her want him as much as she always had, but had been too afraid to admit.

Hurrying along with her head down, she did not see a golden-haired Elf drop catlike down from a tree and land in front of her, and she ran headlong into him. He stumbled back but caught his balance, steadying her by the arms, and she apologised quickly before looking up. Legolas. Legolas with the incredible face and shining hair. Why did he always do that? He saw the redness of her eyes and his brow creased into a worried frown. "What is the matter, my lady?" he asked, cocking his head to one side.

"It is nothing; a trifle," Flynn lied, looking to the side to avoid his probing gaze. "I am just... I have been rushing around too quickly, that is all." She adjusted her bag on her back. It was heavy with leather-bound volumes and her mess of hand-scribbled lesson notes.

The Elf stared at her a moment longer, clearly not believing her. "Then will you rest a moment; catch your breath with me? I have been enjoying this sunny patch while it lasts." He gestured to a bench set into the side of the path, half overgrown by ivy and wild grasses around its base, and bathed in sunlight that streamed down through gaps in the canopy.

Flynn looked at him for a brief moment and replied, "I do not think that is a good idea." But he had already sat, and was patting the space next to him. She sighed and told him what only her brain wanted to say but which her heart riled against: "I do not think I should talk with you, Legolas."

He stared at her, trying to read her face, but she looked at anything but his eyes. Legolas said, "It is true, you did ask me to leave you be, and I have honoured your wishes – but I do not think that that is the problem this present moment. Something displeases you, and I wish to know what."

"Why must you know?" she asked softly.

Legolas didn't answer right away. The Elf sat up a little straighter, seemingly formulating a response. "Flynn," he began, but the words seemed to elude him. "Please sit," he finally said, casting his hand to her. Flynn did not take it but she did sit down, careful not to be too near to him. If she touched him, she knew, she would only dissolve. "Flynn... To keep my distance from you this past little while has been something of a challenge. And now, to see you so clearly discomforted... it does not bear witnessing. I must know what ails you so I may remedy it. It is what I am compelled to do."

"Legolas, stop," she pleaded. "You cannot talk like that. Especially today, especially now..."

"What is different about right now?" he asked, a tone of suspicion rising in his voice.

"Nothing, it is not worth talking about. I have to go," she dismissed, standing and moving to leave. Legolas caught her by the wrist, just gently, but she halted. Flynn looked back at him and his eyes had a bulb lit behind them, his thoughts training on the answer. His hand's grip softened and he slid down from her wrist to her palm, clasping it there.

"It is somebody, I see now. Somebody has crossed you today." Legolas narrowed his eyes and looked to the side as though conjuring an image in his mind's eye, and his hand on her skin tingled strangely as if she had slept on it; it reminded her of something, something that had been niggling in the back of her mind. When had she felt this before? It was recently, she knew, and what was significant about it? But the Elf's continued musing interrupted her train of thought. "Your heart, it is as if dampened," he went on. "There is something it greatly desires but it is as if bound..."

Flynn bit her lip as the tears from before threatened at the back of her eyes and then spilled as the emotion from Cilien's reprimand pulled her asunder again.

Legolas's eyes snapped back to her suddenly. "Cilien!" he hissed. He stood quickly and took in the angry despair in her eyes, and the fierce indignance on his face was suddenly washed away by sympathy and sorrow. He held her face in his hands. "I can fix this for you," he offered, his eyes boring deeply into hers. "If you ask it of me, I will do it."

Flynn drew a deep breath; she wasn't ready for him to know about this, but there it was. "But what could you do, Legolas? There is not anything worth doing that would make a difference. If you spoke to her about it, it would only make it worse. And we knew she would be like this."

"But you do not have to accept her behaviour."

"What else can I do?"

"Allow me to help. Please."

"Legolas, you cannot fight my battles for me. I am a grown Woman and I must work this out for myself. I simply need time to think about it. I will probably decide to just do nothing, and that will be no bad thing. Sometimes the best course of action is just to let things go." Legolas smiled then, strangely amused. "What is it?" Flynn probed, not entirely comfortable with his facial expression.

"Such wise words," he answered. "In your count of years, an Elf would still be but a child, and yet as a Mortal you have the wisdom of an Edhel long past his entry into adulthood."

"_Her _entry into adulthood, thank you. And what is so surprising about that? We mere mortals only have limited time – we must grow up quickly."

Legolas cocked his head to the side. "Yes, I suppose that you do."

"It is odd that you are so surprised by this. After all, are you elves not always reminding yourselves how different and superior you are to mortals?"

Legolas sighed softly and gently ran a hand across her temple, pushing hair behind her ears. "Are you certain you will not let me speak to her about this?"

Flynn nodded. "Yes."

"Very well. Please tell me if you have a change of heart, but I shall let you continue on your way. For someone who agreed to leave you be, I have spent far too long in your presence." Before Flynn could reply he had squeezed her hand, spun, and paced off down the forest path.

Flynn stood for a moment, not considering his words so much as running the feeling of his touch through her mind. Why was that strange tingle so familiar? And how had he perceived so accurately what had taken place between she and Cilien? She knew of the natural keen perception elves had, but this was shared only from Elf to Elf, not Elf to Mortal. But the touch of his hand – it was not just sweet and warm this time, there was something dynamic about it, something... active? And then she remembered.

That day at the archery field, when Flynn had hit her first and only bull's eye, she recalled an odd feeling of strength and confidence just at the moment she took that final shot. And then Legolas had been behind her unexpectedly when she turned around. Had he touched her? It was certainly possible he had done so without her noticing, considering how hard she was concentrating. Did Legolas have the power to connect to her own energy simply by touch? Flynn shivered, and set off for her talan.

- - - - -

Despite Flynn's wishes Legolas went straight to the healer's home. Without announcing he was ascending, he climbed her stairs three at a time and jumped up to the main flet, knowing she would hear his approach. Cilien was sitting at her mixing table with her back to him, and she continued pulverising something with a mortar and pestle, not greeting his arrival.

"How dare you interfere in matters which are not your own?" Legolas challenged.

Cilien turned slowly, her face unreadable. Though they had spent a long time together so long ago, Legolas found he could still not interpret her emotions the way a true lover should. It was a sad fact that had been integral to the demise of their relationship, whatever that had been. These two were just not meant to be – could she not see that?

"This is a matter far beyond just you or the Mortal," she replied. "You know how the Eldar disdain desires of your kind. You would be fated to tragedy if you followed your foolish heart, and all of your kin would deny you."

Legolas advanced on her, his tall form towering above the healer, who sat demurely. "My _kin_ are those who would support the decisions that are mine only. My kin are those who respect the sway of my heart. All others deserve not the title of friend." His eyes narrowed.

Cilien stood and took his hands, her face softening, though even a scowl became her. Somehow she was beautiful like that. But Legolas could see past her shimmering beauty. He wrenched his hands from her and stalked over to the far side of the talan, not facing her.

"I only interfere because I care, Legolas," she said softly. There was a constructed fragility in her voice that he did not trust.

Legolas wanted sorely to draw attention to her insincerity and shoot down her power play and posturing now. But he knew that if inflamed the healer could make life much worse for Flynn, and ultimately, for him. "I do not ask you to care, Cilien," he replied gently, now turning to face her, carefully fixing his most sincere face, knowing she had always been too selfish to interpret his deeper motives.

"And yet I continue to care nonetheless. I do not want to see you hurt and shamed. Is that so strange?"

Legolas could hear the fawning in her voice like a cat mewling sweetly for its breakfast before clawing its owner's eyes out. He approached her again and set his hands gently upon her upper arms, looking down into her face. "I appreciate your concern, Cilien, but you must trust that I can protect myself," he assured her. "I will not forget all those who mean something to me." Legolas set his eyes to glinting kindly, a move carefully honed over centuries to give the impression of weakness and trustworthiness which had proved so valuable when facing enemies. He hoped she would have faith in that look.

A smile tugged weakly at the corner of her lips. "Please, just be cautious – if not for you, then for me."

Legolas nodded, but he knew that if it came down to making his choices with Flynn in mind or with Cilien, the latter would lose out. At the very least, the Mortal was uncompromisingly genuine and unsullied by the foolish jealousy that so obviously darkened this Elf's heart. Legolas decided then that he would disobey just one more of Flynn's wishes. For the challenge Cilien posed forced him to admit that he could not stay away from her for another moment. And he would not.


	15. Attack

**15 – ATTACK**

Flynn had been borrowing books from Arrow, who was an avid reader of fiction. The Elf was especially fond of fantasy stories set in lands other than Middle-earth, which Flynn found highly amusing if not a little ironic. It was the apprentices' day off and the afternoon was warm. Flynn had spent the morning washing her clothes again with Brennewyn, enjoying the easy conversation she shared with the Elf. She had weighed up telling Brennewyn about Cilien's harsh words and seeking advice on a solution, but she decided against it. She did not want to adversely affect Brennewyn's relationship with Cilien if she could avoid it. It was bad enough that Legolas knew already. So Flynn took a story from Arrow's collection and set about finding somewhere quiet. It wasn't difficult in the fading woodland realm, and Flynn discovered just the right place in the form of a cloth-canopied stone bench strewn with plush cushions some way from the protection of Caras Galadhon.

Despite Legolas's earlier advice, Flynn had not taken her bow and arrows with her, knowing that, for one thing, she could hardly use them anyway, and for another she had felt Legolas's persistent presence on and off for a day now, and thus she knew that he had resumed shadowing her intermittently. She should have been annoyed that he already disobeyed her wishes, but she couldn't help but smile wryly whenever she felt him near.

There was a sticky feeling in the air now that summer approached. Flynn had chosen to wear a simple, light gown that was little more than a second under-dress except for its rich red dye and some beading at the collar. Settling into the cushions and leaning back, she soaked in the warm sunshine and the glimmer of its rays on the yellow-green leaves of the mallorn trees. The sense of Legolas on the edge of her perception was gone, and she relaxed, alone. It was not long before the words of the book blurred and she fell into a mid-afternoon doze.

Flynn dreamed of feelings and suggestions; peace the colour of a sunset swam by her, and then passion the colour of blood. She was swamped then in something like arousal, feeling her centre awakening, her skin tingling, her head becoming hot, her belly stirring with the suggestion of a desire fulfilled. Smiling in her sleep, Flynn squirmed unwittingly in a satisfied kind of way. That touch she felt so keenly, it was upon her again, and she murmured happily to herself. He was touching her. She relaxed into it.

Then there was a feeling of danger, keen and alert, and she awoke with a start and saw the hand on her knee, but it was darker than the Elf's and nowhere near as warm, and looking up at who had disturbed her slumber, she drew her legs away with a gasp. "Ellos!" she exclaimed.

The dark half-Elf grinned slowly from where he sat, relaxed and yet poised, catlike, at the end of the stone bench. "Hello," Ellos greeted in an intense singular tone.

Flynn was on her guard. Quite apart from the surprise of his presence, she wondered what possessed him to think he could touch her while she slept. "Hello," she ventured cautiously, unsure what else to say. He had not changed much in these few months. His hair was the same length, oddly, but a little matted as though he had not tended to it in days. That olive skin had deepened a shade as if he had been in the sun, and his dark eyes were more intense than she remembered.

A self-pleased smile drew the corners of Ellos's lips out. Flynn remembered kissing those lips; a sensation that at the time had made her skin scorch, but now made her shudder ever so slightly. Why had she been so attracted to him? Now that she looked over him again she could see that he oozed insincerity, and something like sleaze, and it was altogether unnerving. When he didn't offer anything by way of explanation, she asked, "What are you doing here?"

Ellos shifted a little along the bench, closer to where Flynn gripped her legs to her chest like he were an advancing spider. "I came to see you," he answered, laying a hand on the stone, near her, as if inviting her to take it. She did not.

"What do you mean you came to see me? Why? I recall that you had more important business elsewhere."

Ellos lowered his head, seemingly chagrined. "I came to feel that that particular business was not as important as this. I had to see you again."

Flynn's stomach tightened. Was she really hearing these words? This was the Man-Elf who had disinterestedly led her to the outpost and abandoned her after a couple of rolls in the hay – or the stream, as it were. certainly their connection had been steamy then, and she had been willing, but the hurt and shame she had felt when he disappeared had since outstripped any lasting affection she might have harboured for him. Curious, she asked, "And why, exactly, did you need to see me again?"

Ellos moved closer now and quickly, intruding upon Flynn's personal space, drawing close to her face. "I _wanted_ you," he whispered fiercely, intensely. "You have not left my mind, Flynn."

The half-Elf's eyes wandered over her like he was sizing up his prey, and she suspected that at any moment he would begin to salivate. Flynn was tense. She wondered if this was still part of the dream she had been having. "Ellos," she began, her hands suggesting a defensive wall in front of her; "you left me, remember? You took me as far as you wanted to take me, and then you left me. And I am not angry about that at all, but was I supposed to keep thinking about you?" She gave him no time to answer before she continued, "You made it very clear there was to be nothing between us beyond those few days, and I have held to that." Flynn tried not to let her voice rise.

"Nonetheless," he said excitedly, "I am here now, and I was foolish to let you get away, and I –"

"_Let_ me get away?" she interrupted, incredulous. "I am fairly sure I was pushed. I am fairly sure I did not ask to be released from your company."

Ellos ran a hand down her upper arm. "Folly, Flynn – all was my own folly, I know it now."

"Yes," Flynn concurred, her arm twitching away under his hand. She did not trust this apologetic Ellos. It was unlike any side of his personality she had ever seen.

"But I see now that we had something I must have more of," Ellos went on, and with this a mischievous glint came to his eye. He played with a tendril of Flynn's hair, and she let him, feeling paralysed, as he asked, "Do you not remember the intensity of our passion?" Flynn said nothing. "Do you not recall the feeling of my lips on your skin?" Ellos continued, now bringing his face close to hers and brushing her cheek. He was persistent, and she felt herself weakening in the heat and intent radiating from him, but not in a good way. Not the way she weakened under Legolas's hands.

"My hands on your body..." Ellos went on, "the sounds you made... your sweat on my skin... and do not tell me you have forgotten the pleasure..." His voice was just a low growl in his throat now and his breaths were audible. "I have ached for you Flynn. I need you. I have thought about you night and day. I have remembered every sensation, a thousand times over." Ellos drew back a fraction, his eyes locking to hers. She saw a scorching fire there and was suddenly afraid. "I must have you!" he hissed.

Flynn snapped back into focus and she writhed, trying to shrug him off, though he did not retreat and she only partially succeeded. "You do not _need _me, Ellos!" she rebuked. "You only want me because you want to make love again! You just miss the things you could do with me because you cannot do those things with the Middle-earth women and their standards and their dignity, or with the elves because it is so disapproved of! You want all the fun without the burden of marriage, and I understand that, I do. But, Ellos, you are not going to get that from me. Not again. You will have to look elsewhere."

Flynn could see by the fire flashing across his dark eyes that she had awoken anger in him, but she was not going to back down just to appease him. There was no point, and not just because of the way he treated her but because of the person she was beginning to see that he was, and the complete lack of desire she realised she had for him. He had to hear this, loud and clear. It looked very much as though he did not want to.

"But I _will_ have you!" he said fiercely. Then before she knew what was happening, the half-Elf was upon her, roughly pushing her down on the bench and grabbing at her clothes. Flynn used all her anger to push him away but her efforts were useless – he was stronger than she remembered, and he was impossibly quick as he pinned both her arms behind her head with one hand. Though she had felt a ball of fear in her belly since she had awoken, it was only now that she realised just how sinister he was, and just what he was trying to do. What he was going to do.

Flynn opened her mouth to scream for help but he anticipated it, and he clapped his free hand over her mouth. Ellos drew his face roughly down to hers and hissed, "_Do not_ fight. You want this, too; I know it," and he silenced her then with a rough, unfeeling kiss as he freed up one hand and grabbed fistfuls of her skirt, pushing it up over her knees and holding her down by the full weight of his body. Flynn bit his lip, hard. Ellos pulled away and suddenly slapped her, the force of it so hard she was momentarily dazed.

The mottled blue of the dark canopy above swam blurry in Flynn's vision as her head rolled to the side, reeling from the hit. Ellos was going to get his way, and she was completely helpless against it.

- - - - -

Legolas had not been following Flynn that afternoon. But when the ripple of fear hit him he knew without a shadow of doubt that he must get to her. Something terrible was happening. He could feel her fear like a frightened animal and it drove him to her like a homing beacon, knowing he must simply run, and run, and keep running, following the nauseating current pulsing through him until he found her.

Legolas was still some way away when he slowed, seeing her now through the wood with his keen vision. Flynn was having a heated conversation, sitting in an obviously defensive and fearful pose with someone. Legolas narrowed his eyes. It was that slimy and dishonest supposed half-Elf quasi-prince Ellos, whom Legolas would have despised if not for the fact that such an emotion was not acceptable among the elves. He stopped and hid behind the tree, knowing the Man could not have heard his silent footfalls. Legolas did not believe any part of him was Elf-kind at all. He watched as Ellos drew uncomfortably close to Flynn, and he wondered for a moment if there was not something going on between the two – something being rekindled?

But his gut told him otherwise and in a moment Flynn's voice grew shriller and she tried to shrug Ellos off. Legolas watched his persistence and nearly spat with disgust. Did this blight on the elven reputation not know how to respect a lady? But then he saw the thing that chilled him to the core. Ellos forced Flynn down and restrained her there, and Legolas could see the intent in his body. He could feel the animal lust rippling through the air.

Flynn's stark fear hit him in the gut and provoked a visceral reaction so strong he almost heaved up the contents of his stomach, bending double against a tree. But his time was short. He straightened and saw Ellos fumbling with Flynn's skirts. In an instant Legolas was sprinting through the trees faster and more nimbly than the wind. He burst upon the small clearing and like lightning he drew his bow and had it poised at Ellos's throat. "Tell me why I should not kill you this moment," Legolas challenged in a low growl.

Ellos stopped dead and slowly moved away from Flynn, who was visibly shaken. He unfolded himself from the bench and stood, Legolas's arrow trained at his throat, unmoving. Ellos looked the fairer Elf in the eyes, and Legolas could see the fury and agitation there. It looked as though he wanted to say something. Legolas readied himself. Whatever Ellos said or did, it was not going to be enough to excuse his actions.

But Ellos decided against saying anything to explain himself. Instead he coiled his energy and took a swing at the Mirkwood Prince. Legolas ducked the fist easily and swiftly dropped his bow and swung back, cracking Ellos across the jaw. Ellos stumbled but he quickly regained his footing, swinging for the Elf again.

Legolas was deadly by reputation for a reason, and he dodged Ellos's arm and uppercut him in the stomach, feeling satisfied as the air fled his opponent's lungs in a sickening whoosh. Legolas seized this momentary diversion, and with one strong arm he grabbed Ellos around the collar, pulling the Man's back to his own chest, and with his other hand he deftly drew one of his white-handled knives and wrapped it around Ellos, pressuring it at his throat.

Legolas could hear Flynn behind him now, righting herself and standing, and in the split second's lapse of his concentration, the offender in his grip freed an arm and delivered an elbow to his ribs. Legolas reeled back, sucking in a breath, and Ellos seized the moment to gather himself and was off, disappearing through the wood. Legolas did not give chase. He knew the elves would find Ellos. Flynn needed him there.

- - - - -

Flynn went weak at the knees then and, suppressing the impulse to simply collapse under the weight of rage and fear, she slumped back down on the bench. All was quiet. Legolas regained his composure and sat down close to her. She dipped her head to her hands and stifled the sobs that welled up in her and tightened her chest.

The Elf sat calmly there beside her, silent. Flynn told herself just to breathe, just to calm down, but she looked up at him then and saw the deep compassion in his eyes, and was overwhelmed by the thought of what might have happened had he not been there. Flynn gave in to it, and she did so into his arms, and he folded around her and held her within his safety as the sobs overtook her and her whole body wracked with shudders. She had been so close to the most horrible thing she could imagine, and at the hands of Ellos, a person she had once shared her time and intimacy with freely. Flynn hoped he would be punished for this, that he would be duly shamed.

Flynn did not know how much time had passed when her breathing showed signs of returning to normal. Still encased in the embrace of the Elf, whose chin she could feel lightly resting on the top of her head, his steady and deep breaths gave her a rhythm to mimic. His presence was grounding and solid; she was still all right and the world still spun. Flynn sniffed, thinking what a mess she must look, and wiped her eyes with the back of her hands, glad that she did not have to worry about smeared mascara these days. Looking up at Legolas's face she saw that he was smiling, somehow amused at her uncomfortable sniffles, and she found herself giving in to a small grin, too, then glancing away shyly. When she looked back at him, his head was slightly cocked as though studying her, and suddenly his face was the most beautiful thing she had ever beheld.

Flynn stared at him for a lingering moment, remembering when they had kissed that day at the archery field. This Elf had saved her from a certain fate today, and not just today but every time he looked out for her, and every time he allowed her to confide in him he showed himself to be the most unquestioningly loyal ally she had ever had. It was true stupidity that kept her away from him. She wanted once and for all to shed it.

Legolas read her intentions, but he made no move, though the openness in his face invited her to act upon her thoughts, whatever they may be. So she did. Flynn closed the space between them, and walking her lips gently over his jaw, his cheek, his lips, she kissed him. Her stomach fluttered. The Elf returned her kiss easily, adopting her rhythm as his grip on her tightened and he pulled her safer into his embrace. Legolas's fingers on her back sent a tingle up her spine. Flynn clutched at his arms, kissing him more urgently now, subconsciously wanting and needing a positive experience to wash away the terrible one she had just barely escaped. The Elf complied, having motivations of his own and knowing that if he did not let her succumb to her more instinctual desires now, then she never would.

Gently Legolas pulled back and beheld Flynn's face, flushed pink at the cheeks and wise beyond its years. She watched as his eyes moved over her, and found no trace of discomfort. She liked this Elf to look at her. It made her feel warm. His lips parted for a moment, seeming to wait for words to form in his head, and he finally said, "Let me take you back to my talan. Let me keep you safe."

Flynn did not know what he was really asking, but she did not want to question it, in case she lost her resolve and pushed him away again, so she only murmured, "That would be lovely," and he smiled, and stood, taking her hand chivalrously. Legolas collected his weapons, strewn across the ground when he had shed them to fight Ellos, and they made their way back towards the inner realm.

They came across Thienving, trotting determinedly southwards, but he stopped when he saw Legolas and Flynn, and there seemed to be some silent exchange between them. Legolas let go of Flynn's hand, asking her to stay where she was, and he and Thienving moved off some ways and spoke a hushed and hurried Elvish that Flynn couldn't quite pick out. Thienving shortly patted Legolas on the shoulder and hurried off southwards again.

Legolas returned and confirmed, "They believe they have trapped...him. When they do catch him they will keep him bound until the elves decide what to do." Flynn nodded, not wanting to think about it. She was vaguely surprised that he was still out there. "I told Thienving that you will stay with me under my protection. He agreed this was the best idea." Legolas's tone was methodical. It was as though he were relaying military tactical information, but then his face softened and he took her hands in his. "You will be safe with me, Flynn," he assured her.

"I know," she said.

They soon reached the western part of Caras Galadhon. This was an area Flynn was not overly familiar with, and she was impressed to see how enthusiastically the flowers pushed through the earth and invaded every spare inch of ground on this side of the wood. Tiny blossoms crowded the bases of the mallorns and bigger, more insistent blooms choked the footpaths and sent a heady perfume up through the forest.

Flynn breathed deeply, feeling a little more peaceful, but her legs were still uncertain. Legolas stopped then and Flynn's eye caught the beginnings of a staircase spiralling up from the back of a tree behind him. It was only then that she realised she hadn't seen any such staircases in quite some time as they strolled, and it seemed now that Legolas's talan was out of the way of most of the dwellings here. She wondered if he had been given a quiet part of the forest where he could avoid being disturbed; royalty that he, after all, was.

The Elf made a motion with his hand that invited her to ascend, and in the fading afternoon light she climbed the silvery wood steps to his talan, which was built higher than most of the talans she had seen. Just near the top of the stairs she looked back at Legolas, not hearing him behind her, and she saw that he was just below. Legolas nodded at her as if to nudge her, as if saying it was all right to enter, it was all right to feel safe.

The roof of his dwelling was made of intersecting carved wood arches like most of those in Lórien, but this talan had the distinct feature of vines threaded through most of the lattice-like walls and some of the roof, giving it much more privacy than she had become accustomed to. In fact it looked like the best talan on offer in present-day Lórien, and with curiosity she pushed through the entry arch half overgrown with vines and mallorn branches.

The space was definitely bigger than hers and caught the angled afternoon sunlight better, washing everything in an orange glow. The talan was tastefully furnished with the bare necessities of storage and comfort, with soft overlapping rugs in muted greys, reds, and browns carpeting the floor and the odd small tapestry on the walls. Each depicted a peaceful scene: mountains at sunrise; a full moon over the forest; the view of Lórien from an eyrie in the Misty Mountains. There was a wide, comfortable-looking divan littered with pillows on one side of the talan, by the ivy-latticed wall. It was the closest thing to a bed to be seen, and brought to Flynn's mind that the elves did not sleep often, and when they did, they usually did so standing up, or often whilst walking.

Legolas appeared behind her. "Will you be comfortable here?" he asked.

Flynn turned and found him standing close. "You have the loveliest place I have seen yet!" she complimented. "The Lórien elves must really like you!"

Legolas's eyes smiled. "It is long since I first visited here, but they have not forgotten the nature of my stay, or the outcome of my purpose." Flynn said nothing, knowing she could not admit that she knew all about Legolas's first visit. In fact because she had read of it in Tolkien's great detail, she felt as though she had been there with Legolas; she had felt the fear of entering the once heavily-guarded forest and the foreboding presence of the Lady of the Wood. Flynn even shared his joy at receiving that rare privilege of a gift from Galadriel: the Lórien bow and arrows.

To the thoughtful expression on her face, Legolas offered, "I do not suppose you have read what has been written in our history?"

Flynn nodded. "I have, actually – in some detail. I do recall your name being mentioned in the histories." Allowing herself a sly grin, she added, "You have some notoriety."

The Elf's smile was almost sheepish, embarrassed by the fame his bravery had won him. He dodged the subject and said, "I am glad that you find my erstwhile home to your liking." With that he cupped her chin in his fingers and gently tilted her head, and she welcomed the kiss he brushed upon her lips. "I am glad," he whispered, and she smiled and sighed. The he pulled her close, burying his face in her hair and breathing deeply of its homely, comforting scent and the faint hint of fallen leaves she had developed in her time in Lórien.

Flynn could feel him indulging in the soft crush of her wild hair against his face, and was gladdened that he took such sweet pleasure from her presence. The simple honest candour was overwhelming. The first sob escaped with a small lurch, and when the Elf squeezed her reassuringly within his arms, the floodgates opened again and out poured the shock still rippling through her.

Legolas kissed the tears from her face shortly and said, "You are tired, little flower. You should sleep."

Flynn rubbed her eyes, suppressing a laugh at his term of endearment. "Do I really look that exhausted? I must be a mess."

He smiled. "Not at all. But you have the singular privilege of having your rest guarded by an elven archer."

"And a famous prince, no less," she jested.

He gave in to a wry smile and a quirk of his brow. "You should accept such an offer while it lasts."

Flynn mirrored his face. "Well if you say so, then I simply must," she agreed, and Legolas took her hand and pulled her down on to the bed with him, and she curled spoon-like, her back to his belly, as he propped himself up on one elbow, his head dipping to the nape of her neck, where he kissed her lightly. Flynn relaxed into him and the Elf wrapped an arm around her protectively and pulled her close, and she felt, for the time, truly safe, and his warmth sedated her. She was soon asleep, dreaming only of soft music lilting soothingly to the beat of the slow breaths expanding into her back.

- - - - -

The Elf never slept, or not of the fashion that mortals did, for he was ever alert and only left the waking world when his thoughts danced lightly in the paths of his ancestors. But always he felt the Woman's slow, deep breaths against his chest, and in his heart. Flynn squeezed at his hand in her sleep, like a content newborn, and for a moment he was reminded – despite his utter bliss at having her so close – of the staggering age gap between them, not to mention the chasm between their cultures and societies of origin. And yet he did not see her as his junior. These mortals seemed to grow to maturity unbelievably more quickly than his own race, and in his millennia he had never met an Elf-maid or Woman so potently self-aware and honest – given her age relative to race – as Flynn.

Well, 'honest', he considered, except for what she continued to hide from him regarding her origins and, by proxy, who she really was. Legolas knew what she had told him so far was not all that she could say. He strongly felt that all she had told him was simply a mask for some deeper truth. But he could not fathom what she could not tell him. Was she a runaway, an escaped prisoner, a refugee? Legolas was certain that there was much more to her story.

And then there was the matter of his own home, his own story. He knew he would have to return to Ithilien soon, but how would he ask her to come with him when she had found her calling, her healing work, here in Lórien? He looked down over Flynn's restful body snug against him. There was a hot sensation in his hands, the familiar tingle of skin that needed to touch, to test, to stroke, to tease, to taste. His eye roamed from the unruly hair framing her sleeping face to the poised line of her straight shoulders and down the dip of her waist, its yield seeming to ask for his hand to trace its undulating curve. Legolas looked over the swell of her hip, feeling the present warmth and give of her rear against him and with a heavy measure of strength struggled to rein the slow spread of desire, the movement threatening at his groin, and he shifted ever so slightly, uncomfortably. He would not touch this woman if she was not fully awake to enjoy it, and he would not surprise her in that way. The Elf could not imagine, even drawing on his centuries of experiences, how this lady nestled to him must have felt this day under Ellos's crawling hands. Legolas had tasted some of her fear, and it was more sour on his tongue than anger or fear or shame, or all of these combined.

Sighing softly to himself, he wondered if he should have told her more about Ellos; if there was anything at all Legolas could have done to prevent this. If he had told Flynn the full truth about the greasy self-proclaimed half-Elf from Dol Amroth, would she at least have run away when she first saw him today? Legolas could not know for sure, for he still suspected in some way that Flynn still felt for Ellos. The very notion almost set Legolas's blood to boil and he ground his teeth together. Flynn stirred in her sleep and he looked at her again. What had he let himself fall into? An Elf his age should know much better than to become involved with a Mortal; in that point he had to admit Cilien was right. But to _fall _for someone, to truly fall headlong into this feeling? Legolas knew beyond doubt that that was something no warrior, strong as he may be, could fight.

He just hoped he had the strength to fight against the outside opposition it was most certainly going to bring.


	16. Ellos

**16 – ELLOS**

Flynn watched the gentle sway of bright patterns on the floor made by mid-morning sun. Adjusting to the light, she made out the sublime form of Legolas leaning against the frame of the west wall, his head crowned by sunlight and a serene smile upon his face. She couldn't help but return his smile, remembering the feeling of sleeping by him.

He straightened smoothly and crossed the talan, draping himself on the bed facing her, and brought a hand to her face where he stroked her cheek softly and ran his fingers through her hair. The Elf was fully clothed but Flynn wanted little more than to bury her face in his neck and have her way with him, and she wondered if it would be too forward, too soon, to rip his clothes off.

"Good morning," he greeted in the old tongue, planting a soft kiss on the tip of her nose. "Or should I say good afternoon, for it is nigh on midday?"

Flynn responded with a soft moan, not caring what time it was, and nuzzled into his chest. Legolas stroked the back of her neck absently before asking if she wanted any breakfast, and when she nodded sleepily, he extricated himself carefully from the warm limbs twined around him and disappeared.

Flynn stretched and decided that getting up was probably a good idea, especially considering she was, at the moment, missing a morning's study with the apprentice healers, and would have to make up for it by being extra alert for the afternoon session. She did not particularly want to see Cilien anyway, although it would be vindictively amusing to show up at the afternoon session reeking of the Mirkwood Prince. But if Flynn wanted to prove her maturity, that was not going to have the desired effect. She just wished there was some coffee in Middle-earth to help fortify her.

Flynn rose and padded about, poking inquisitively around the furniture but not finding anything that amounted to Legolas's personal effects, though she knew by now that he kept almost nothing in the way of possessions and comforts. She realised then that she had been wearing the same clothes for almost a whole day and night, and she wondered how the Elf could even stand the scent of her.

As Flynn was ferreting through a chest of drawers that seemed to be empty apart from a grey tunic the same as the one Legolas normally wore, and a few lonely singular items of male Elf clothing including the silver tunic he had worn the night of the dance, she was suddenly startled by a voice behind her.

"Searching for something?" Legolas asked slowly.

Flynn whirled quickly to see him standing in the doorframe, a covered platter in one hand and a silk drawstring bag in the other.

"Clothes," she answered quickly. "I thought it was time I found something else to wear."

"Ah, then it is fortuitous that I have arrived," he responded as he crossed the talan and set down the tray, offering the bag to her. "I have brought you some things of your own. I hope you do not think it too intrusive of me."

Flynn's heart leapt with fear, thinking of the Elf going through her possessions. Had he found the Elvish poem that brought her here, or the photocopied maps of Middle-earth? She dug through the bag quickly and found some clothes, her hairbrush, and her half-used bar of elven soap, all of which she knew had been strewn about her talan, not packed into her private bag. Relieved, she wondered if Legolas was trying to tell her something with the soap. "Thank you," she said, and he gave a small nod and a warm smile that lit his eyes, and he moved off to the food.

In Legolas's talan there was an alcove that housed a small breakfasting table and two chairs. Legolas moved the platter to the table and took a seat leisurely, stretching his long legs out and crossing his ankles. Flynn had never seen him look so relaxed and for a moment it unnerved her, but she took the other seat.

The Elf served her, procuring apples and peaches, and pastries that looked much like croissants, which they tore open with their fingers, steam rising from within, to find melted butter inside. Far from being self-conscious eating in front of this Elf, Flynn had camped out in the wilderness with him many times now and it felt natural for them to be sitting together, taking their fill and chatting, relaxed.

Legolas talked of Thienving, his old friend, with much humour and spoke fondly of him as though Thienving was the most extravagant and ridiculous Elf in Middle-earth, but Flynn suspected that there was something altogether deadly about him, remembering the intense purpose in his stride yesterday. Yesterday. When he was in pursuit of Ellos. Because Ellos had tried to... She shuddered at the thought, momentarily zoning out from Legolas's voice. The Elf noticed, and placed a hand over hers upon the table, and guessing her thoughts, softly said, "They will catch him, you know. There will be justice."

Flynn looked away, hoping Ellos was already strung up by the genitalia in a pit full of hungry wolves and venomous snakes. Somehow she doubted it. "I know," she replied, but she wasn't truly convinced. The Elf squeezed her hand. She bit her lip. How could someone who seemed so normal, even with his immaturity and arrogance, prove to be such a malignant character?

Legolas interrupted her thoughts then. "I know you like to bathe often," he began, and Flynn wondered firstly how he knew this and secondly if he was suggesting that she smelled. She _did _bathe much more often that the elves did – which some of them had duly noticed – but then again, she was one of the few people in Lórien who actually succumbed to dirt, and she certainly did not want to stand out for that reason.

"Would you like to go to the waterfall before you go to lessons today? I can accompany you if so," Legolas offered.

When Flynn blushed pink, Legolas quickly clarified, "I mean that I could keep watch for you."

"I see," Flynn laughed; "You are just looking for an excuse to see me naked!"

The Elf did not joke when he replied, "Yes. But perhaps not today."

Flynn stopped laughing and her stomach fluttered. "All right," she agreed.

Legolas followed as she took her things across Caras Galadhon and to her favourite bathing spot, merely a section of the Celebrant that dropped suddenly over a few feet of rock, creating a small waterfall fit for a human accustomed to showering, albeit rather coldly.

Legolas stood near the top of the falls, some way away so he could not peek in on Flynn. She found herself not minding if he did, almost actually wishing he would, just so she could tease him a little, but she knew he had much more respect than that. He did, however, move about quite a lot for someone who was supposed to be keeping close guard, and she was aware of him dancing lightly over the rocks this way and that, his focus honed not only on sensing danger but on trying to keep his eyes away from her, and she had to smile to herself. He had some killer restraint, this Elf.

Flynn dried and dressed quickly, suddenly aware of needing to get to her afternoon lesson with haste, and, giving her hair a cursory wring, she called to Legolas. Looking around then, she did not find him. Flynn called again, a small lump of fear tightening her throat. Where was he? Was she alone here? Had he left her? And if he had left her, then there must be danger, because he would not go willingly... would he?

Flynn called his name again, a tinge of panic at the edge of her voice, and she carefully climbed up the rocks that lined the waterfall to get a better view. Seeing nobody, she heard only the rhythmic crash of water as it spilled over the rocks. Suddenly she was acutely aware of being vulnerable out here on the edge of a fall, and she crouched down slowly, the shallow water swirling around her bare feet as she told herself hopefully that in this position she was better readied for anything.

Then there was a frantic crashing sound from within the forest close by. Careless noise was uncharacteristic for an Elf, she knew, so this one was either definitely fleeing, or human, or neither. Flynn considered running, but could not think which direction would be safest. In fact she could not, in panic, even remember which way would lead her back to Caras Galadhon.

But she had no time to run, because just then the dark figure of Ellos, leaves stuck in his hair, and quiver half-swinging unchecked from his back, ran clumsily out into the open area along the bank, straight towards the waterfall. Flynn's heart stopped. He was still free. He had come for her. He would get her this time.

His breathing was ragged and he charged headlong in Flynn's direction, running from something, and she froze. But then a strange thing happened: he sighted Flynn's form, crouching at the edge, and for a moment looked utterly startled to see her. And at this moment he stopped, just for a second. It was a moment's lapse that would be his undoing. Ellos's body lurched forward abruptly and his face contorted into a horrible grimace, and he staggered forward.

Flynn was rooted to the spot, unable to move from her crouch and unable to tear her eyes away. And then she saw the reason for his sudden sway: there in his back, an arrow was firmly lodged. Then as he staggered closer to the edge and closer to Flynn, now reaching out to her as if for salvation, another arrow whizzed sharply through the air from beyond the trees and struck fast in his back. And another, and another.

Ellos stumbled on the edge of the waterfall, swaying, and the world ground to a stop for Flynn. She did not notice Legolas stalking from the trees with his bow in hand and a furious scowl on his face. She did not notice him halting, seeing Flynn standing, poised and stricken, just feet from Ellos.

Blood frothed from Ellos's mouth. A horrified Flynn stared at him, speechless. There was confused longing in his dark eyes as they fell on her, and it stabbed Flynn in the heart. He had wanted her, that was all. Flynn felt it in his faltering gaze, slowly glazing as he tipped forward, such pain and grief on his face that Flynn nearly reached out for him. He had fallen for her, and wanted her, and nothing more. He was a lonely stray, a lost soul.

Ellos seemed to give up. He fell into the water and made a strangled groan, his outstretched hands recoiling, curling back to him, ready to join his body wherever it would go from here. And then the current at his feet took him, and he slid off the edge of the fall. Still Flynn could not move.

She came to her senses slowly, going tentatively to the edge of the waterfall and leaning out over the edge, afraid of what she would see. There was blood in the foam, and the dark shape of a body tumbling in the churning water, arrows erect like masts from his upturned back. She jumped hearing Legolas approach her, shoving his bow back in its holder. "Are you hurt?" he asked.

"N-no," Flynn stuttered, and could not tear her eyes away from the water, watching the body carry slowly down the Celebrant, where it would be lost to the River Anduin. She could say nothing more. Legolas had just killed Ellos. Ellos, who she had really liked, with some small part of her heart, for a little while. Despite the attack he had made on her, she had not ever wanted to see him dead. Flynn had wanted him shamed and banished, and made to live with his guilt. But dead? No, not that; never that.

But Legolas, her self-sworn protector had taken it further than Flynn could stomach – now he was a killer. Whether in defence or not, and despite the fact that she knew him to have killed hundreds of enemies before, this was somehow different. Now she had _watched _him kill someone. Someone she _knew _.

Legolas took Flynn gently by the shoulders and persuaded her to turn away. She was unaware of wading through the water to the bank, being sat on the grass, having Legolas wrap his cloak around her. She winced when his voice cut into her haze.

"He should have been restrained, but he broke free," Legolas explained softly, but the anger in his voice was evident. "He was given too much trust to begin with, if you ask me. I found him running through the woods, escaped. I do not know if he meant to find you, Flynn, but when we began to head in the direction of the waterfall, I had to –"

"Stop," Flynn interrupted. "I don't want to hear."

Chagrin marked Legolas's face. "I apologise, of course you do not." He was silent for a moment, and then asked, "Shall I take you back to my talan?"

The last thing she wanted just then, was to be alone with Legolas. Legolas, the murderer. "No," she replied firmly. "I have to get to my lessons." She stood, and without making eye contact with him, Flynn bid goodbye and hurried off into the forest.

When she reached Cilien's talan, Flynn paused, staring up at the staircase. She took a deep breath, hoping to fortify herself against the accusative eyes of the healer.

Cilien was not there when Flynn reached the top, but the apprentices were, and the women rushed to her, Brennewyn taking her hands and seating her and asking questions in a flurry while Helmir kept himself out of the fray, fixing some kind of liquid on one of Cilien's work benches.

"How are you?" asked Brennewyn, and, "Are you hurt?" questioned Arrow, and, "Did you hurt the swine?" volleyed Brennewyn, and, "They have caught him, you know," fired Arrow, and on they went until, Flynn shouted "Enough!" and there was silence.

So they knew he had attacked her yesterday. The whole of Lórien probably knew. Flynn hoped they did not think she had played any part in Ellos's actions. She wondered how she would be seen now. Would she be blamed? Flynn sighed. "I am fine," she said. "And he is... he is dead."

Arrow and Brennewyn sucked in matching sharp gasps. "Dead?" hissed Arrow.

"Yes."

"But he was caught last night! We heard he was being detained while the elders considered punishment," Brennewyn put in.

"Well, he escaped, I suppose. I was by the waterfall this morning and I – I saw Legolas chasing him and then he..." she trailed off for a moment, and Helmir crouched in front of her and offered her the liquid, and she sniffed it, recognising calming flower tea. Flynn took a sip. "Legolas killed him," she finished, staring into the mid distance.

None of the apprentices had anything to say for a long moment. Finally, Brennewyn ventured, "Most importantly, you are fine."

"Yes," Helmir agreed. "Ellos has done a horrible thing –"

"And shamed his kin by it," Brennewyn interjected gravely.

"And now he has to pay his dues, and that is justice." Helmir finished.

Flynn appreciated their efforts at validating his death, but she did not want to be responsible for anyone's death, even an attempted rapist's. "That is not justice," Flynn murmured, turning Helmir's words over in her mind.

"How is it not justice?" Brennewyn asked.

"He did not need to die," Flynn answered, still gazing fixedly at nothing. "All he wanted was to be with me, and now I have killed him." Her voice was weak.

Brennewyn looked at Arrow. The two Elf-maids recognised this line of thinking. It was so common of victims, especially women, and especially women victims of attacks by men they loved or had once loved. And it was a line of thinking that did no good at all. "Ellos's death was not your fault –" Brennewyn began, but Flynn cut in.

"Yes it was!" Her voice came strained. "If I had not been so blunt with him, if I had perhaps let him think we could still be friends –"

"Then you would find yourself in a much worse situation than you are now, and there would ensue a much longer period of pain and manipulation," Brennewyn interrupted sternly. "If Ellos could not deal with your feelings as they were, it is his own foolish fault, and you should _not _, in a _ny way _, feel as if his folly has _anything _to do with your actions. The arrogant Man has overstepped the line many a time before this, and as far as we are concerned," she added, glancing around at the apprentices for approval, which she seemed to get, "he had this coming to him long ago. I only wish I had told you more about him when we spoke of him those weeks ago."

Flynn was silent. Brennewyn's firm words took a moment to make sense. "What do you mean he has overstepped the line before?" she asked, curious now.

Brennewyn looked to Arrow and Helmir for courage, then ventured, "I should have told you, but at the time I did not think you would ever see him again."

"Told me what?"

"Ellos is a... let us say he is thought to be a 'bad seed'. He is rumoured to have seduced women from north to south, promising them his love and the protection of his house and his lineage, so winning his way into their beds and their hearts, before leaving them, never to return."

Flynn didn't react, Legolas's earlier warnings having given her some hint that this was the truth of Ellos. Brennewyn went on. "Flynn, Ellos does not win women in an honourable way. He is said to be a liar and a storyteller. It is rumoured that he even arranges to place the women he seduces in horrible situations out of which he can 'save' them so as to be a hero in their eyes. He has his way with them, and then he leaves the women behind and sees them never again."

Flynn shuddered as suddenly the horrible reality occurred to her. That day, within the woods, when those three men had attacked her, when Ellos had strangely disappeared from view. He had disappeared inexplicably, but re-appeared in the nick of time and saved her. And the next day. The next day they had... She felt sick then, and turned pale, and the apprentices noticed the disgust that overcame her face and the ladies took her hands, Brennewyn rubbing her back gently.

"What is the matter?" Arrow asked.

"Oh, gods," Flynn murmured, unable to say anything else. "Oh, gods."

Brennewyn caught on, as only the elves seemed able to. "He did not... he did not do it to you, too?

Flynn looked at the pretty Elf now. "Perhaps," she said, sickened. "He saved me... I was caught by some Woodsmen in East Lórien and he saved me, and... and then we..." She couldn't finish the sentence.

Brennewyn sighed. "The Woodsmen in East Lórien are no more a threat than the elves are. They live in a peacetime. I think you are right to believe he has done this to you, Flynn, though it pains me greatly to say so. He is still the snake he always was," she said softly.

"I wonder why he returned here..." pondered Arrow thoughtfully, and Brennewyn shot her a silencing look. Now was not the time to wonder what might have been.

Flynn wondered the same thing, however, and wanted to ask if they thought his feelings for her were genuine, different. But their conversation ended when Cilien arrived. She sharply instructed the apprentices to ready their notes. "Today," she began, "We will examine not the maladies of the body, but those of the mind." She looked directly at Flynn, coldness upon her countenance, and added, "We must know what strange demons of the mind turn a person mad, and why they make decisions that are pure folly."

Flynn felt the healer speaking directly to her, and she knew the recent events between she and Legolas and she and Ellos had coloured Cilien's choice of subject. And though she wanted to scream at the healer to just make her point clear, to admit that she hated Flynn and wanted Legolas for herself, she remained resolute that she would not take the bait. So she listened as the supposed 'master' healer doled out the accepted wisdom regarding mental health and mental malaise, and it all sounded so much like the uninformed lore that had coloured medicine centuries ago in her home land. Psychology had progressed so far beyond this knowledge they had, and become based on such different assumptions, that Flynn felt as though she might explode if she had to listen to Cilien drone on for much longer about evil forces in the brain, and describe what was clearly textbook depression as a 'failure of the spirit to achieve higher wisdom.'

Flynn wondered for the first time how long she could put up with this. How long could she stay and try to learn from the healer who so patently despised her, especially when the wisdom she was meant to be learning was not always very wise? And how long could she stay in a wood where she had been partly responsible – despite Brennewyn's spiel – for someone's death? And could she ever look at Legolas the same way? Flynn's heart sank slowly to the pit of her stomach. If the elves did not know much about depression, she could show them; this was it.


	17. Aníron

**AUTHOR'S NOTE **

**This chapter has been edited to remove NC-17 content. The story is also presented in full version at the web address listed in my profile.**

**17 – ANIRON**

One week passed slowly. Flynn attended Cilien's lessons distractedly and felt the animosity growing between them, though they hardly spoke. Flynn hardly spoke to anyone, in fact. She could not bear this feeling, this revulsion that Ellos, the one she had thought for a time she could trust, was nothing but a hollow shell of deceit and lies. And then, to add to the weight of this was the heavy disgust that Legolas, the Elf she had grown closest to was, in fact, a murderer. Logic didn't come into her feelings for him. It didn't matter that she knew long before she met him that he had killed countless enemies of Middle-earth. She had never had to witness it, and she had never known them.

Flynn avoided Legolas, and the Elf had ceased following her. There was no contact between them. Every now and then she would catch Legolas across the dining glade, his expression a map of concern as he watched her, questions all over his face, but he would not approach her. He seemed to feel the wall she had erected around herself, and waited for a slight chink in its construction before he attempted to pull it down. But she had no intention of letting him in, though his sad face rocked her core.

And then one night, Legolas was for the first time a figure in her dreams. His face appeared, an ethereal golden-haired beauty wearing stark grey, the familiar worried countenance upon him. It was not much of a departure from how he usually was, but there was a fluidity to him that felt slightly less than real and she knew, somehow, that whatever this was, it was not quite waking reality.

His voice was low and gentle when he said, "I must speak to you."

She found herself answering as though this were any waking conversation and he had come to visit her at her leaf-strewn talan. "Why are you here?"

"If you are distressed, so I am distressed."

"But this is a dream."

A soft laugh. "It is easier this way."

"Easier in a dream?"

"It is something like that."

His vagueness piqued her curiosity. "What is this? I am not dreaming?"

"This is a conversation."

And now she was frustrated. If this wasn't quite reality and not quite a dream either, what was it? "Legolas, I do not understand."

"You will, I promise," he assured her gently. "I will show you everything, but later. If you just hear me for a moment, please; I must speak with you."

"And you will explain all this at some point?"

The dream Elf nodded. "Please, Flynn, tell me, why do you push me away?"

Flynn did not respond, just as she would not have responded were she speaking to him in the forest, awake. But her thoughts strayed to the answer to his question: exactly why she was she avoiding him? She was riddled with misplaced anger. Suddenly she felt a strange tug at her thoughts, like a plucking of them from her mind.

"I see," the Elf said, compassionately and without judgement.

"See what?"

"That. That which you think on. Your feelings."

"How – what?"

"It matters not, for now, how I know it. I feel what troubles you. You cannot see me as you once did, for I am a murderer in your eyes."

Flynn couldn't deny it. "You killed him, Legolas."

"I did."

Flynn didn't expect that. She expected the Elf to defend himself. She said, "I did not want him to die, Legolas. Not because of me. Not because of anyone."

"Because you cared for him once?"

"Of course. And he is – was – still a person, just like you and me. He did not deserve to die."

"You are right. And nor did I think he deserved it. He deserved to be punished, yes, but not to die."

"Then why did you kill him?"

"It was a moment of folly."

"You do not shoot someone four times by accident, Legolas."

"No. But you can decide to kill someone on impulse, frightened that they are about to hurt someone you love, frightened that the things for which you have blamed yourself may only grow worse, and you must take your chance to act. And once you have made that decision, it is difficult to turn back." He paused. "It was a short moment in time, Flynn, and if I could go back I would not have killed him. But I could not stand idly by and see him rush at you like that. Not again."

She was silent for a while, then said, "Why do you say that you blame yourself, Legolas?"

"I should have told you all that I knew, Flynn. I am certain that if I had, you would have run from him the moment you saw him that day, and he would not have had a chance to come near you, and none of this would have happened."

Flynn felt compassion for him then, for she suddenly understood that perhaps this Elf blamed himself for everything just as much as she blamed herself – just as much as she, too, blamed him. And that wasn't fair.

"Legolas," she said, "no matter what you had told me, I cannot promise that I would have listened, or would have believed you. And I cannot say that I could even have escaped him, even if I had run. You know that he is strong. Was strong." Legolas said nothing and she could not gauge whether he was convinced or not, but then suddenly something he had said moments before came rushing back to her. "Legolas, did you just say... 'Someone you love'?"

"Yes."

It was a stupid question but she had to ask it; "Me?"

"Yes."

Flynn was struck for words.

"Flynn," the Elf said, "I do not want to be without you. I perceived someone to threaten your very life, and I had no other desire but to protect it. I know you have blamed yourself in some way but it is in no way your fault; it is his fault, and it is my fault. He chose to shame what little honour he had, and he chose to threaten you. I chose to interfere in the way I did, and that was my choice. And now what is done is done."

There was a silence – how long, Flynn did not know, time seeming irrelevant in this dreamlike place – and she knew then, beyond a doubt, that she loved him. "For whatever I foolishly blamed you, I am sorry. And whatever you feel guilt for, I forgive you, Legolas."

His voice a whisper, he said, "Thank you."

All was quiet again. Legolas smiled. There was a long pause, this time growing from comfortable silence to a charge of electricity that crackled around them.

"Flynn?"

"Yes?"

"Do something for me."

If Flynn had breath in her dream, it was now hitched in a bubble in her throat, and it took her a moment to ask, "What is it you want, Legolas?"

"I want you to come to me."

- - - - -

Flynn awoke with a start, her heart beating madly. It was still dark, and the moon above indicated the hour was past midnight. She felt strangely intoxicated by having been thoroughly immersed in the presence of the Elf, and she was overcome. He had asked her to come to him.

She rose quickly and lit just one of the oil lanterns hanging above her talan, hoping not to draw too much attention to herself. Not that most elves would be sleeping, anyway. Flynn changed from her thin nightdress into a proper gown, nervous flutters upsetting her belly. For the first time she really cared about her appearance for Legolas's sake.

Straightening herself in front of the mirror, Flynn ran her hands through her hair without brushing it, worried it would become a mess of static frizz. She attempted to style it with the silver combs she had been left with, but when going for the 'casually tousled' look, natural beauty was suddenly ever so difficult.

Flynn emptied her water ewer into a basin and gave her face a wash, making all possible attempts to freshen up, thankful that she had bathed that afternoon. Finally she assessed herself, posing with a sultry pout for the mirror, and decided this was as good as it was going to get. At any rate, it was probably the most preened she had looked since the night of the feast, since she wasn't in the habit of even using the mirror these days. She pulled on a light silk cloak since and blew out the candle in the lantern. She descended in a hurry, the delicate fabric of the cloak wafting about her bare feet. She brought nothing with her.

Legolas's talan was visible from some way away, the only inhabited residence in this part of the city and the only beacon of light in the dark forest. It was softly illuminated and seemed to call to her. Flynn hurried there and paused at the bottom stair, anticipation giving way to nerves as her knees went momentarily weak. She quietly drew a fortifying breath, knowing the Elf would have heard her approach and would surely be waiting. She padded quickly up the stairs, her footfalls seeming loud in the quiet wood.

At the entry arch to his talan she could not prevent a small gasp. The place was more beautiful than before. There were tiny candles littered all over the interior, every available surface a mass of twinkling lights and warmth. The flickering flames brought the vine-latticed walls to life, light playing over the uneven surfaces of the deep green leaves and making it seem as if they were growing and moving before her very eyes.

There was a rich scent in the air, exotic like rich musk and heady spices, with a deep floral tone, and she saw clay bowls strategically placed around the talan, hosting the ember-red charcoal discs burning thick incense. But the Elf was nowhere to be seen.

Flynn stepped inside where it was warm, the thick carpets soft under her feet. Another step into the room, she jumped at a faint swishing noise behind her and she whirled to see the Elf, half-hidden in the shadows just inside the entry, loosing a delicate silk curtain. It fell across the arch, concealing the room.

Flynn beheld him then as he stepped into the soft firelight, his tall form clad sparsely in breeches and a loose, long-sleeved tunic. The plain simplicity of the fabric draping his form screamed masculinity and lust. Flynn's belly jumped. She looked into his face. The Elf's eyes were ablaze, the usual clarity now a deep midnight in the half-light, catching her gaze and holding it captive. He advanced on her slowly.

Legolas's movement was like liquid as he reached behind her ear and buried a gentle hand in the hair of her nape, placing a chaste but hot kiss on her forehead. Flynn shivered as its warmth spread, and she felt herself blush down to her toes. She smiled and closed her eyes as he kissed her again, this time in a delicate line down to her temple, and she breathed in his familiar scent, his earthiness grounding her. The voice at her ear was velvety smooth when he said, "I hoped you would come."

Flynn couldn't help but grin. "You knew I would."

Legolas affirmed in a pleased rumble from low in his throat. Flynn slipped her arms around him and squeezed him gently to her, not failing to notice the firmness of his upper body.

"I have watched you, my love, and always in silence while you suffered," he said then, straightening and looking into her eyes. "And I can no longer watch without defending you. I only want you for my own. I do not want to be pushed from you."

Flynn's breath caught somewhere deep in her chest and refused to move. She hung on the edge of his sentence, not sure what to say. Legolas went on, framing her face in his long hands. "I need but a promise from you, Flynn." His voice was only barely above a whisper. "I need to know that you will not keep yourself from me any longer. I need to know that you will tell me what troubles you, what pleases you – what is in your heart and upon your mind. Everything. And the full truth of the things I know you still withhold from me."

So this was what he wanted for his love and attention. There were to be no secrets, even those prickly ones concerning her homeland and the fact that she had magicked herself to Middle-earth from a place and time of which he could not even conceive. Searching in his eyes, she looked for an out, clamouring for a way to edge around his words and still have him. Could she really tell him everything, when she suspected it would only drive him from her? "Legolas," she began, a note of distress in her voice. "I want to be yours, I honestly do –"

"Then say you will be."

He was persistent, this one. In his eyes she saw the familiar kindness and generous soul that had drawn her to him all this time, but there was something new – was it... despair? Legolas's eyes seemed to plead, to implore her to do this one thing for him, for if she did not, there was no ground for them to stand on. It shattered her reservations. Flynn whispered, "I will."

The Elf drew her to him, stark relief betraying itself in his deep sigh and his tight embrace. His hands came to her hair then and gently removed the silver combs, letting them fall to the floor.

- - - - -

As the world faded back in Flynn felt the air rippling. Her breathing came down. Sweat beaded on her skin. The Elf was warm. His brow was furrowed, his eyes shut, his breathing sharp, slowing.

Flynn watched as he relaxed and instinctively began to run his hands over the soft, warm body in his arms. Legolas opened his eyes slowly, their deep blue glittering in the firelight. He smiled his infinitely serene smile and Flynn shivered, her whole body still buzzing. The Elf kissed the tip of her nose.

Flynn shifted to get a better view of his face, the strong, angular jaw giving no hint to the gentle nature behind it. She took mental snapshots of his beautiful body, savouring the warmth and the scent of the Elf and this hideaway in the forest. Flynn looked him in the eyes. "I love you," she whispered, feeling that if there was only one thing in the world she could tell him, it would be this.

Legolas pulled her into a tight embrace and rolled back, squeezing her to him, and she smiled and lay against his chest, fitting perfectly into the nook of his arm. She slept well.

- - - - -

Flynn did not, however, sleep all night. She woke sometime before sunrise, the greyness of the light outside threatening daylight within an hour. Rolling over she discovered that it was Legolas's absence that had caused her to stir, and quietly she sat up, peering around for him. The candles were spent, the cloudy incense blown away with the promise of morning.

She stood, wrapping her long-discarded cloak around her like a sheet, and padded to the far side of the talan. There was a door-shaped gap in the vine-worked wall through which she could see the silver dawn sky. Flynn had not seen this door – or whatever it was – before, and she approached it with caution. A section of the wall had been cut out just like a regular door and it swung off to the left. Flynn concluded that the thick vine growth must have concealed the door's edges when she had looked at it before.

She could see now that it led out on to a balcony of sorts – a curved extension of the talan which, like most others, had no kind of railing to stop anyone from falling over the edge, since elves never did. There were swathes of leaves dancing over the wooden floor, twisting in little spirals in warm the morning wind. Everything was bathed in pale grey, calm and waiting for the brilliance of dawn.

Her bare feet crunched on the dry leaves as she took a tentative step out, craning her head first to the left, only fleetingly taking in the magnificent view from Legolas's talan here in one of the highest trees, overlooking the edge of the forest and the still snow-capped Misty Mountains beyond.

Flynn swung around to the right and saw him. Legolas watched her calmly, waiting for her to find him. The Elf sat, relaxed, in a decadent chair whose seat was wide and whose back and arm rests were high. His legs were folded loosely, and a blanket draped over his shoulders with some abandon, pooling in his lap and concealing very little.

Legolas smiled. "Ah – she awakens more beautiful than the day before," he said, unfolding one arm from beneath the blanket and extending his hand to her. "Good morning."

Flynn greeted him and crossed the narrow balcony, the fluttering leaves tickling her feet. Taking his hand, she allowed him to pull her around in front of him and, unfolding his legs, he drew her down for a deep kiss of greeting, and remembrance. Recalled sensations from the night flashed through her and she moaned softly into the kiss, and the leaves sweeping across the talan became caught up in their hair, blown free by the wind. The lovers did not notice until much later, after the sun had warmed Flynn's face as it rose, and the grey of the morning had turned shining orange, and they picked the leaves from one another's hair and in the crevices created by their bodies, and laughed, and debated over whose face was more aglow in the clear light of morning.


	18. Threats

**AUTHOR'S NOTE **

**This chapter has been edited to remove NC-17 content. The story is also presented in full version at the web address listed in my profile.**

**18****  
****THREATS**

It was still early when, love-struck, Flynn left Legolas's talan after but a few more short hours of sleep, but not before the Elf reeled her in as she moved to head out the door, stealing from her one last, long kiss before she had to leave for morning study. But she was only just out of sight of Legolas when she ran across Cilien leaning in the shadows against a tree, her arms folded over her chest.

"I suppose you think your future with the Prince is sealed now," the fair Elf said, voice dripping with bitterness. Her face took on an ugly countenance when she spoke. It was the first time Flynn had seen an Elf look anything but beautiful.

Flynn stopped short of the healer, not underestimating Cilien's anger. "You were _spying _on us?" she asked incredulously.

The Elf's demeanour faltered for a moment, seeming to realise how foolish she would look if anyone found out she had been voyeur to a couple's happy joining. "One does not need to spy to know what happens in these woods – even behind walls."

"You were spying," Flynn said flatly.

Cilien chose a different tack. "If I were to tell the elders, Flynn, what has occurred this night between you and Legolas," she said crisply, "Let us say I do not think they would approve."

Flynn grew tired of this spiel already, but the mention of the elders made her ears prick up. Surely there was no Elf in Middle-earth more elderly than Celeborn, and what would he care? "What does this have to do with the elders?"

Cilien's smile was almost a smirk. "Everything. They have the power to welcome and to banish. Their advice is heeded. They are seldom disobeyed."

This was not something Flynn knew much about. She knew that in the time of Galadriel, she and her partner, Celeborn had ruled this wood and their word was law, but Lórien was no longer governed in such a way. She had gleaned from her time in Lórien that it was now loosely ruled by a council of the very oldest elves remaining here. But this council seemed to simply exist in order to uphold tradition and keep the borders safe. It was by virtue of their waning power and Celeborn's absence that she had even been allowed to enter the realm in the first place, and was surely why mortals like Helmir could pass through. Flynn was not aware they had the kind of power Cilien suggested.

"I doubt that they have so much sway as you think, Cilien. Especially where other people's hearts are concerned." Flynn attempted to move past the Elf.

Cilien blocked her way, pointing one slender, almost bony finger in the woman's face. " _Leave him alone! _" she hissed. "A Mortal is no match for our kind; you are nothing but a passing fancy to him."

Flynn could not help but lower herself to Cilien's level, as much as she would later regret it, and she looked the Elf up and down in a most menacing manner. "At least I am a fancy to him at all," she spat, and stormed off before the healer – who looked as though she might catch fire with rage – could follow.

Flynn trembled as she stalked to the glade beyond the ruin of Galadriel's mirror. There she saw Helmir and Brennewyn sitting, and she shrugged her bag off her shoulder on to the ground carelessly and sat down with them. Despite the fact that her nerves were slightly calmer, her face must have been a picture of angst because Brennewyn immediately asked what was wrong.

Flynn sighed. "Cilien," she replied. "Is it not always Cilien?"

"What has she done this time?" the pretty Elf asked gently.

"It is nothing new," Flynn said. As satisfying as it would be to tarnish Cilien's name around Lórien, she didn't want to be the childish one. "She simply makes it very clear that Legolas and I together would never come to good, and that if I really cared about him I would leave him alone."

Helmir snorted and looked up from the boot he held in his hands, three fingers wrapped around a thick thread and a serious-looking needle. "Leave him alone? Even if you did, you would be truly pressed to keep out of his grasp. He is persistent in his pursuit of you."

Flynn winced. "Are we really not that subtle?"

"_You _are," Helmir confirmed. "_He _is not." The Man smiled then, and added, "But why should he be? He is an Elf prince who may do as he pleases, and it is for none of us to stop him."

"So I keep trying to tell Cilien."

"Oh, Flynn, she will never listen," Brennewyn said softly. "Cilien is stubborn as a bull and will not sway from this. She will not accept that Legolas's decisions are his to make. As are yours. And whatever Legolas decides for himself..." Brennewyn trailed off, not needing to finish her sentence. There was a short, pregnant silence.

"I think he might have... made a decision," Flynn said quietly.

Brennewyn cocked an eyebrow inquisitively, a twinkle lighting up in her eyes. Helmir ceased wrestling with the leather of his shoe.

"We might have... taken things beyond a place from which we can return. Last night," Flynn confessed, pulling blades of grass from the earth, not meeting hers friends' eyes.

Helmir's face was blank, but Brennewyn's mouth began to twitch into a smile that dimpled one cheek and then took over her whole mouth. "You did?" she asked excitedly. Flynn couldn't help grin half-heartedly back at the Elf's infectious smile. She nodded. "Oh, I should bet it was wonderful!" she gushed girlishly. "Did you not have just the most splendid time?"

Flynn nodded again, a self-pleased grin taking over her face, though she continued to pluck at the grass.

"Would somebody explain what I seem to be missing?" Helmir said with a frown, displeased at being left out.

"I do not know if it can be explained in a way we mortals would identify with..." Flynn began, but Brennewyn interjected.

"They have acknowledged their love! They have bound themselves to one another. Have you not, Flynn?" Brennewyn answered, looking to Flynn for confirmation.

"I do not know," she admitted. "Perhaps. Yes?" She found she was somewhat unsure, herself. In Elf custom elves did not make love unless they were bonded, and the act of first making love was bonding in itself. But it did not always happen that way, and the parties had to consent. What had she consented to last night, with Legolas? Had his little speech about giving herself to him fully actually meant more than that they could not deny their feelings? She suspected she knew the answer.

Helmir voiced her own question. "Did you marry?"

Flynn was stuck for a moment, unsure how to clarify it.

"Oh, not in the fashion you know of," Brennewyn explained. "Elves do not need the fanfare and public display that men do. We commit to one another in private and it is between lovers that the boundaries are set. But it is still a bond that is powerful – and difficult to break."

"I see," Helmir said, still vaguely perplexed, but smiling nonetheless. "Well, congratulations."

"I am happy that you and Legolas have stopped pretending you do not adore each other," Brennewyn said, still smiling widely.

Though Flynn was glad that Brennewyn, if none of the other elves would be, was pleased at their union, she had to wonder why Brennewyn's standing on the matter was so different than the general opinion. But before she could ask, Helmir called a hello to someone behind Flynn, and she twisted to see Arrow approach. As Arrow sat down, Brennewyn looked as though she might burst, and she blurted, "Flynn and Legolas have admitted their love! Is that not wonderful?"

Arrow, who had been pulling books and rolls of vellum from a sack, halted for the briefest of moments, before resuming and looking up at Flynn. "That is... that is very nice for you," she said uncertainly.

Brennewyn frowned. "Arrow, can you not be happier than that?" she scolded.

"I am sorry," Arrow said, "I hope you will be very happy. But I cannot help but see the obstacles you will face. I do not know what the elders will think..."

"You care what the elders will think?" Flynn asked slowly, if not a little suspiciously.

Arrow looked around at the apprentices. "Do we all not care what the elders think?"

"I certainly do not," Helmir answered, stuffing his foot into the boot, which did not look much better than before. "But then, I am not an Elf."

"Nor do I," Brennewyn said sternly. "They can no more control my actions than they can control my emotions."

"But do you not worry that they can make life altogether difficult for you?" Arrow asked, the brow of her timid face creasing.

Flippantly, both Helmir and Brennewyn said, "No."

Arrow stared at them for a moment, and then went back to opening her books. There was no more talk that morning besides the usual discussion over their studies, and soon the sky came over grey.

- - - - -

Flynn saw no point in attending the afternoon lesson with Cilien. The healer would almost certainly still be fuming, and Flynn half expected to be thrown out of the lesson altogether. She grabbed a satchel with a change of clothes from her talan and headed for the bathing waterfall, knowing it would be empty this time of the day.

Not far from the Celebrant stream, Flynn paused tentatively. She had been feeling, for the last ten minutes or so, a strange sensation that grew gradually stronger as she walked. It was an odd warmth inside her which seemed to come from nowhere, and it made her feel good. It made her think of Legolas, but it was concerning in its apparent randomness.

She shook her head and continued walking. But just then there was an odd noise from off to her left. She paused to listen. It was the sound of a Man – or a male Elf – grunting lightly, followed intermittently by strange thuds and thwacks. It sounded suspiciously like a fight. It crossed Flynn's mind to leave the sound alone and not get involved, but the warmth growing in her flared just then and seemed to tell her it was safe, and compelled her towards the sound.

She cautiously picked her way off the path and through the forest, honing in on the noise, growing warmer and warmer as she went and wondering why on earth it felt so pleasantly like being lightly drunk on a summer's day. And then she saw. Twisting knives between his fingers before crossing his arms, twirling one in each hand and making quick, lethal-looking arcs in thin air, then plunging the knives with great force into an old tree stump, grunting with satisfaction, was Legolas.

He heard her approach and his head whipped around to face her, and as he caught her eyes, the strange swelling warmth in her seemed to pop, and it dissipated, leaving her feeling oddly as though she had just solved a puzzle. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up for a second. How strange it was.

But the Elf's wide smile was entirely distracting and, wrenching his knives from the tree trunk and sliding them back into the straps at his back, he picked his way quickly through the undergrowth to Flynn where, upon reaching her, he pulled her close for a deep kiss. For a moment her mind was blank and she felt as though she was melting away, until he pulled back slowly and cupped her chin with his fingers, peering down into her eyes. His head tilted ever so slightly, as if he had heard something, or something had just occurred to him.

But before Flynn could ask, the breath left her as Legolas swooped down, grabbing her around the waist and throwing her over his shoulder. She squealed and pounded on his back, and he ignored her and laughed, and carried her down through the forest.

Legolas stopped at the Celebrant waterfall and set her down. Flynn rippled with laughter and could hardly stand up. As she set her bag down she did not notice him shrug off his bow and arrows and carefully set them down, before loosening his over-tunic and shirt and pulling both over his head in one quick tug. She quietened immediately.

He dipped his toes in the water and seemed satisfied, because he crossed the few steps to where she stood and kissed a hot line across her shoulder, up her throat, over her ear and finally back down to her lips while she whimpered softly. Then the Elf hoisted her over his shoulder again, she screamed again, and he went trudging happily through the shallow water towards the low stone wall which spouted the waterfall. Water sprayed her back as they drew closer, and then thundered over her as Legolas walked directly under the small waterfall, and she yelped with shock, but then the water was gone, and she could hear the thunder of it all around her.

Legolas set her back on her feet, and she saw that he had brought her to the very small alcove of stone behind the waterfall. The Elf edged her towards an angled ledge that was conveniently about the right height for someone of Flynn's size to sit on. Legolas seemed to know this too well, because no sooner had she rested there, than he was standing between her legs administering a stirringly urgent kiss.

Flynn kissed back hard, her hands at his head pulling him in as if his lips were breath for her lungs and she could not exist without them. His touch was electric; unique. Flynn traced fingernails over his wet skin and pulled him towards her. Legolas's wet hair fell heavy around his shoulders and she marvelled that even when he should look like a drowned rat – as she surely did – the Elf was still in his element, droplets glistening over his skin, carving paths down his defined chest which rose and fell heavily as he looked up and stared into her eyes.

Flynn could see a familiar desire in the bright blue flecks, and then he uttered, "I love you," by her ear, from somewhere low in his throat where his voice lent itself only to what was necessary. He crushed her to him, and the water spray flecked off their skin so they were soaked and breathless.

- - - - -

They stayed a long while under the waterfall. When they waded back to the riverbank, the sky was still an ominous grey and the air crackled with the potential of rain. They were strolling, hand in hand, back through the forest, Legolas veering Flynn towards his own talan, when the clouds finally tore open like bursting wine skins and sent a loud thundering patter up through the forest as droplets hit the huge mallorn leaves. Not letting go of one another, Legolas and Flynn set off at a run, Flynn grabbing the skirts of her gown and laughing, feeling her legs must be a blur as she tried to match the speed forced by Legolas's long stride. When she looked at him, he was smiling, water running over his lips and his straight, white teeth. They passed other elves sheltering from the rain, standing around the boles of trees quietly, though they did not seem bothered by the water, and their eyes followed the couple trotting across the city, and Flynn wondered what they were thinking, whether their faces turned to frowns as they passed, whether their joining was spreading across Lórien like wildfire.

They reached Legolas's talan and bounded up the stairs, and Flynn flopped down on the divan by the wall, panting. Legolas smiled and sat on one of the chairs by the breakfasting table and began to pull off his light boots. Soon he had rid himself of all his wet outer-garments and, swiftly – but not so quickly that Flynn could not watch – he stripped naked, crossed to the drawer, and pulled on breeches and a loose tunic. He flipped his wet hair over his shoulder. Flynn peered out through the latticework of leaves that comprised the wall beside her and, drawing her knees underneath her, watched misty steam rise from the warm forest floor and flowers bobbing on their stalks as droplets hit their petals.

She turned back to the room to see Legolas standing in the hidden door opposite, his arms above his head, resting against the frame. Flynn unfolded herself from the divan, crossed the talan quietly and approached him, slipping her arms around his waist and tucking her head under his arm. He lowered his arm so it wrapped around her, and took in a deep breath of the scent of her hair. The rain had begun to slow now, the droplets turning from swift stinging pellets to plump, heavy dollops.

"It is a fine time to find us repast, I think," Legolas said, breaking the quiet.

"Hmm?" Flynn mumbled lazily.

"The rain drives small things out of the soil. If we go soon, we can gather food, and I shall make you a fine meal."

"We are not eating with the elves?" she queried, wondering how, exactly, Legolas was going to cook anything in this sparsely decorated room.

The Elf looked down at her. "It is difficult to lay out the normal victuals when everything is rained upon. You may find the elves will dine apart tonight."

"Well in that case... what do we need to do?"

"You, for a start," he replied, squeezing her buttock affectionately, "need hunting clothes."

"We are hunting?"

Legolas crossed to the chest of drawers and retrieved a suede outer tunic, which he donned as he explained, "If you wish to eat merely nuts and berries today, then no, we do not have to, but –"

"So we are going to kill our own food?"

Legolas looked at her with a keen eye. "You say that as though it were a strange thing to do."

Flynn resisted the urge to say, "Not as strange as it was a few months ago," because, though she had spent enough time in Middle-earth now to be used to the fact that everything she was eating – including the meat – was fresh, she still didn't like to think about how it was procured. Legolas was shouldering his quiver already. "No, it is not strange – I just... I don't like to watch things die."

Legolas fixed her with his quizzical expression again. "But you watch things die every day. The trees shed their leaves, the spring flowers wither, the ants on the ground are crushed underfoot; everything dies someday."

"Except you," she said quietly.

Legolas halted for a moment in fastening his quiver belt, then, resuming but not looking up at Flynn, he said, "I could die."

"But you won't," Flynn countered.

"Nobody knows that."

Flynn looked him up and down, seeing might and dignity written all over him. "I am convinced there is not a force in this world that could bring you down, Legolas."

Legolas threaded his belt through the leaf-shaped buckle and went about tucking the loose end back in on itself. Still avoiding her eyes, he said, "Except love."

There was a long moment. Neither breathed for fear of having the conversation they had never dared have. Finally, Legolas turned, a slight drop in his usually proud shoulders, and asked, "Shall we retrieve your clothes?"

Flynn nodded. After she had changed, they embarked on a food-finding mission, traipsing all over the forest searching for morsels that could be dug up, plucked, or climbed for. Flynn held a basket into which he deposited swatches of herbs found growing wild beside the forest paths, and every now and then some unfamiliar fruits that looked a lot like small, malformed lemons. She enjoyed watching him forage, trailing after him through long grass and over thick vines in the undergrowth, breathing deeply of the fresh scent of wet earth, the forest smelling somehow cleaner. Flynn had the distinct feeling that all the foods they needed could be got from the stores the elves kept to prepare the daily meals, but it seemed Legolas felt the need to do this for himself; perhaps to show his lover what he could do. She grinned to herself, musing on how, even at hundreds of years old, the Elf would still feel this basic desire to prove his robustness and worth to his mate.

Legolas caught her smiling as he bent to pluck a sprig of wild parsley. He lifted one eyebrow as if in questioning, but she just grinned and shook her head dismissively. Later they stalked silently through the undergrowth when Legolas's keen sight caught the evidence of pheasants foraging, and he shot two before they ever knew what was coming. After this he seemed satisfied, and they returned to the base of his home tree, where he built a fire, disappeared for a while as Flynn tended it, and returned with what looked like an assortment of cooking utensils and crockery, and a flask of wine. So he had been by the scullery, after all – wherever that was.

Flynn sat against the bole of the tree on nearly-dry earth and watched Legolas prepare food for them, relishing this simple pleasure, this familiar ritual that reminded her of rare summer barbeques as a child. The thought of home gave her a slight pang of longing and, startled, she pushed it down inside her. She couldn't long for home; she mustn't. What was there to go back for? She had resolved never to return, after all. Legolas looked over at her then, and she was conscious of biting her lip.

"Oh, no," he said with mock suspicion. "I see trouble in those eyes." Flynn looked away, afraid of what he might see, and Legolas cocked an eyebrow. But there was a different subject on his mind. "Should you not have been at your lessons today?" he asked, fitting together the obvious albeit far too late.

Flynn nodded. She turned her thoughts from home, to the morning's incident with Cilien, and said, "I could not bear to see that... that vile witch."

Legolas sucked in a sharp breath as he stoked the fire. "Those are harsh words you use."

"Not half as harsh as what she says to... oh, never mind. I am being childish." Legolas smirked. Flynn caught the irony. Flynn went on, "I just thought that if I had to see her again today, I might say something I will really regret later."

"See her _again _today?"

Flynn blanched. She had said more than she meant to. "It does not matter."

Legolas swore quietly in Elvish. "I told her to leave the matter alone..."

"You w_hat _? Oh, Legolas, you did not interfere, did you?"

"Cilien needed to hear without a hint of doubt that this matter was none of her business, and–"

"Then it is no wonder she has been so wretched lately!" Flynn interjected. "She probably thinks I have been running to you and telling you horrible stories every time she says even a word to me!"

Legolas's voice softened. "Flynn, she _was _saying horrible things. And you and I know that you have been nothing but composed in the face of these foolish threats and accusations. It is only you who can know the truth, and you have done nothing in the wrong."

Flynn nodded, but she bit her lip, knowing that it was not entirely true that she had done nothing wrong. She had not been the bigger person, and she did not know how long she could hold out without throwing back at Cilien everything she had dished out already. There was only so far Flynn could stretch until she snapped. "I have not been entirely innocent," she admitted.

Legolas was snapping off the stalks of the parsley and dropping the leaves lightly into the pot he had suspended over their fire, but he stopped mid-action. "Oh, Flynn, what have you done?" he asked softly.

"I have not _done _anything as such, but..." She looked at the Elf and saw a vague note of disappointment in his features. "I find it difficult to control my tongue when she provokes me," she explained. "I always seem to want to give her a piece of my mind."

Legolas smiled noncommittally. "Certainly a normal desire, when taunted by the poisoned tongue of Cilien," he said. "Yet you must control this, Flynn. You do yourself no favours being just as horrid as she can be."

"I know." Flynn chewed on her thumbnail and stared into the mid-distance, her eyes glazing over. Legolas noted the furrow in her brow and reached over, squeezing her hand reassuringly. Edges and lines swam back in to focus as his touch set off sparks beneath her skin. "Legolas," she said suddenly, and he looked up at her, the low setting sun casting one half of his face in a orange and throwing the other into darkness. Even in the fading light his eyes glinted. "I wanted to know why it feels so strange when you touch me."

For a moment he looked taken aback, and she balked at her choice of words. "Strange?" he questioned.

"No, not strange – that was the wrong word," she back-pedalled. "I mean that sometimes when you touch me, there is this odd tingling that spreads over me, like I am being consumed – but in a good way. It does not happen all the time, but I felt it when you pressed me to know what Cilien had said, when you touched my arm that day, and I felt it when you were teaching me to shoot, and I hit the bull's eye. And I felt it when – well, this is strange, and I am probably imagining it –"

Legolas's expression indicated that he already understood what she was talking of, and was already formulating his reply, so she went on, "– when I saw you in the woods this morning, with your knives, well I... somehow I already knew you were there. I felt the same tingle, and this warmth that made me think of you, and it seemed to draw me in the direction of you, and there you were, and when I saw you it went away, and... am I going mad?"

Legolas's fine straight teeth all showed as he laughed, and he fell back from his squat into a cross-legged sitting position. "No, my love, you are not going mad." There was a highly amused smile across his mouth and Flynn reddened a shade, mildly embarrassed.

"I am surprised to find that you feel this, however," Legolas added. "I did not know mortals were sensitive enough to it." His face was thoughtful now.

"Why is that?"

"You speak of the _fëa _, the life-energy shared by all those with breath and beating heart."

"_Fëa_." Flynn rolled the word over in her mind. She knew that word, though she had never fully understood it. "How does it work?" she asked.

"I do not think that it 'works', as such," he replied, clearly having never needed to explain it before. "I think that is simply _is _. We all of us are made of this energy, and some of us can manipulate it, and feel its movement, and will it where we wish."

"The elves?"

"Yes, and perhaps some mortals. You say you felt this sensation at the archery field, and then when you found me today?"

She nodded. "At first I felt like something was moving through me on its own... then I felt like I understood what it wanted, if that makes any sense."

"Yes... that is how I feel it, too," he said softly. "I must confess to something, Flynn."

She cocked an eyebrow. "What?"

"That day, when you made perfect aim... I admit that I tried to help you do so."

Flynn frowned. "I do not understand."

"I lent you something of my _fëa_, my energy; I wanted that you should succeed."

Flynn didn't know whether to be annoyed or pleased. So, as she had suspected for a short while now, she had not hit that bull's eye on her own. Legolas seemed to read her silence, and he said, "I am sorry that I interfered."

But Flynn grinned disarmingly and said, "No – you just owe me another lesson, now." Legolas smiled, relieved. Flynn said, "So it is a transfer of energy, then? But it is not only through touch?"

"You are right. It radiates like the sun. It is how we know, before our other senses have yet woken to it, when someone is near. It is the first warning; what you felt this morning was precisely that. Everyone's _fëa _sings of its existence, rejoicing in its life. Not everyone can hear."

"Sings?"

"Perhaps not exactly singing as you know it," he said, "it is a joyful... something."

"Does mine... 'sing' too? Can you hear it now?"

Legolas smiled and closed his eyes as though there was warm sun upon his face. "Yes," he said, "and I feel it when you touch me. It runs through me just as mine does through you."

Flynn blushed; she had thought only _he _had such magical fingers, such a special touch. "So how is it that I do not feel myself doing it, then?"

"I do not know – mortals usually cannot feel the _fëa _of others, much less their own. I think it is something like a deaf man who breathes too loudly – he cannot hear it, so he does not know, but he is making a noise all the same. That is how I think of it for those who are not Elvenkind."

A thought struck Flynn – something she had meant to ask him about. "Legolas, is this at all connected to what happened the other night? How you spoke to me in my dream."

He leaned forward and peered in to the pot, inspecting his work. "You were not dreaming."

"Then what was it?"

Legolas took the pot off the fire and set it down in the ground, and sat again. "My _fëa _was calling out for yours, that is all. Distance is no issue. My heart sang out for you – I could not help it – and I did not expect your own to hear. But alas, and happily, you did! And we spoke – rather, our energies spoke, of a fashion."

Flynn digested this information. Why could she feel it, was open to it?

"It is strange that you can feel another's _fëa _," Legolas murmured. "The deaf man hears, somehow."

"But I only feel yours, Legolas."

"Yes," he said slowly, a thoughtful frown across his face.

Flynn bit her lip and frowned. "Is it odd?"

Legolas looked at her then, and a tiny smile hinted at her lips. "It is a wondrous thing, Flynn. It means a great deal."

She cocked her head to one side, relaxing a little. "So… what _does _it mean?"

Legolas looked in her eyes for a long moment as the sun set beside him. He reached over and ran his hand down the side of her face, and she sighed in to it and closed her eyes, touching his hand with her own.

Softly, he said, "It means we have a powerful bond."


	19. Accused

**This chapter has been edited to remove NC-17 content. The story is also presented in full version at the web address listed in my profile.**

**19  
****ACCUSED**

Flynn slept uneasily despite Legolas's wonderful cooking. Soporific incense clouded his talan when they finally ascended and made themselves a complicated pretzel of one another's bodies on the floor, gathering together as much for warmth as because it felt wrong not to press every inch of their skin together. But Flynn was restless, and it was not just that she knew the coming dawn would bring the necessity to see Cilien again; something else played on her mind, too.

She knew, though she had been pushing it from her mind for days, that Legolas lived in Ithilien now, despite his welcome here in Lórien. How would this affect them as, potentially, a couple? When did he need to return, and would he ask her to come? Flynn could not bear the thought of being parted from him, but what purpose could she possibly serve and how could she be happy in Ithilien, without the purposeful study and the friendship of the apprentices?

With Legolas stroking her hair softly, the Elf not sleeping but not awake, Flynn drifted fitfully into sleep. But not for long. Some time after midnight, when the moon was covered by cloud, she awoke. She was slowly conscious of soft starlight winking down through the latticework of leaves above her. This was Legolas's talan, she gradually remembered. And shortly, a shift of weight at her back and a kiss on the edge of her ear took a beat from her heart. But it felt so normal to be asleep in the arms of the Elf. It felt like home. Or more correctly, it felt like home never had felt. It felt like what she had been chasing in coming here to Middle-earth.

- - - - -

It was not with relish that Flynn met the apprentices in the morning, despite the warm buzz coursing over her. As she approached, a knot in her belly tightened almost painfully, and she barely squeaked out a 'hello' as she sat and dumped her pack on the ground, sifting through its contents for the appropriate books. The apprentices launched straight into talk of their studies, a heavy air hanging over the three, which did nothing to calm Flynn's nerves.

Flynn sighed heavily when Arrow announced brightly that it was time to pack up and head to Cilien's lesson. Brennewyn cast a sympathetic look at Flynn and surreptitiously squeezed her hand. The warmth in this gesture calmed Flynn momentarily, and she smiled weakly. Helmir was regarding her with his bottom lip between his teeth, but when she looked at him the expression fled his face and he replaced it with a grin and a wink. She was grateful, at least, for these two. Arrow was already standing and looking expectant, as though she could not wait to join Cilien. Was there something disdainful in her gaze – a sneer, even?

Flynn stood and followed slowly. Arrow was far ahead in moments but Brennewyn hung back. "I do not mean to alarm," the Elf said, "but you must steel yourself today; I fear Cilien is not to be reckoned with."

Flynn's stomach lurched and sunk into her heels. "Wonderful," she muttered. "That is just what I need."

Brennewyn's face was soft. "I know. I am sorry it has to be like this; I wish there was something we could do to change it." Lowering to a whisper, she added, "If it were up to me I would have her banished from Lórien – or Middle-earth, even. Her behaviour is a disgrace for someone of her age and standing."

From far ahead Arrow shot them a look that clearly requested that they hurry, and Brennewyn moved closer to Flynn and said, more softly, "She only has power here because she is indispensable. Of this, I am certain. I truly believe that she shuns you not only because Legolas's affections are so unshakably yours, but because to train a healer as talented as you would threaten her stronghold."

"As talented as me?" Flynn questioned. "Surely, then, we are all threats to her?"

Brennewyn chuckled. "But look who she has chosen: Arrow, who is smart but who cannot even _think_ of blood without turning green; Helmir, whose enthusiasm is unfortunately eclipsed by his lack of attentiveness; and myself – well, Cilien knows my heart is elsewhere. You are the only one who is truly a match for her. Perhaps, even it is you who should be teaching us."

Far from recognising the compliment, Flynn was caught on the Elf's admission. "Your heart is elsewhere, Brennewyn?" she asked softly.

But Brennewyn did not reply; she only clutched at Flynn's arm, glancing back at the now scowling Arrow, and urged them to move on more quickly.

They ascended Cilien's talan as though nothing was amiss, but the mood in the treetop was grey and foul. Cilien stalked back and forth across the floor, tracing her fingers over surfaces and refusing to greet the apprentices as they sat and readied themselves. Not that Flynn felt at all ready. She suspected she knew what was coming. And it did.

"Surely you are all aware," Cilien began in a strong, commanding voice, "that it is a rare and singular privilege to be apprenticed to the greatest healer our age has known." A pause.

Flynn didn't know what to say; Helmir and Brennewyn looked equally stricken for words. Arrow nodded and let out a strange kind of squeak of agreement. The healer's arrogance was laughable but Flynn held her tongue, knowing how serious the situation would be if she did not.

"So I would thank you all," Cilien continued, "to take very seriously the studies you have embarked upon." She looked squarely at them now. "This includes attending _every single lesson_ that I, the master healer, conduct." She paused for effect again, and again there was dumb silence. "Not to take this study seriously is a terrible insult to the master healer – and to the work of healing as a whole." Flynn gulped, and not very surreptitiously. Cilien was staring only at her now, and said, "Therefore I should think that to commit the offence of failing to attend – for no good reason, may I add – should incur a punishment."

So it was going to be like this? The healer would turn her foolish bitterness and jealousy into a simple matter of rule-breaking and protocol, and Flynn would be powerless to react. Anger rose in Flynn like hot steam. How dare Cilien be such a snake? How dare she pretend that this had anything to do with Flynn's non-attendance?

The vitriol must have showed in Flynn's eyes then, because a tiny, tiny smirk tugged at the corner of Cilien's mouth. The Elf quickly regained her composure and made her face blank again. "Would you deny," asked the healer directly of Flynn, "that you failed to attend yesterday's lesson?"

Through gritted teeth, Flynn said, "No."

"And would you deny that this is not the first time you have failed to attend, when I had so graciously extended an apprenticeship to you?"

Graciously? Flynn had had to talk her way into the lessons to begin with, and even then she wasn't even sure if she was officially welcome; still wasn't sure, in fact, if she ever had been officially welcomed. Except now she knew for sure that this was her official un-welcoming.

Cilien's eyes narrowed when Flynn didn't reply, and she added, "In fact, is it not true that you have been absent from these all-too-important lessons not less than five times, when you should have been present?"

"I do not know. I have not been counting."

This seemed to flare Cilien's energy. "Oh, you do not know, do you? You have not been counting? Because you do not care, and you do not deserve to be here!" she shouted, her voice rising with every word and her pale eyes lighting up like glacial ice. "You do not deserve to be here, and you will no longer! It was folly to ever accept you as an apprentice, and had I known that you would be so disrespectful to myself and the tradition, and be such a disgrace to all my efforts to teach you, I would never have given you so much of my precious time!"

Flynn's last thread of control snapped. It was not only hurtful that she was being kicked out of the apprenticeship under the guise of being a time-waster when really it was the healer's jealousy behind it all – no; that Cilien dared to suggest that Flynn was not a talented student was what scorched down her back like nails on a chalkboard, and she hissed, "Do not dare pretend that I am not the best student here, or that –"

"The best student here?" Cilien shrieked. "Now that is the funniest thing I have heard in an age! Why, Mortal, you are nothing but a whelp suckling on a teat, relying on others to sustain you. You are an insult to the great knowledge preserved in our healing work!"

"Great knowledge?" Flynn challenged. "If you knew but one tenth of what I know, you would still be less the healer than me." She was crossing the line and she knew it, but she couldn't help herself. She went all the way. "Oh let us not pretend: you are already the lesser healer than me, and everyone here!" She looked at the other apprentices: Arrow was transfixed, Helmir shocked, and Brennewyn had her face in her hands, exasperated. For a moment Flynn felt a twinge of guilt, like she was letting down Brennewyn, her loyal friend – but it was soon interrupted.

"Insolence!" hissed Cilien, approaching Flynn with frightening speed and bending so that they were face to face and Flynn could see the cold fire in the Elf's eyes. "How _dare_ you suggest that you are anything more than an ignorant little child?" she spat.

Flynn narrowed her eyes, determined not to be intimidated, and said in a low tone, "The problem is, I am not a little child, am I? That is what this is really about. You care not that I have missed lessons; you prefer it when I am not here!" Her voice was rising now, though she did not mean it to. "No, your problem is with the Elf prince; your problem is that Legolas loves _me_, and not _you _!"

Cilien's eyes clouded over darkly for a moment, and she said nothing. Then she roughly grabbed Flynn's arm with impossible strength, pulling her to her feet. "Get out!" she roared so loudly that birds shook from the trees in fright.

Shocked by the hand clutching tightly at her, Flynn snapped, "Get off me!" and wrenched her arm away. The healer gasped and reeled back, her hand at her cheek, and Flynn suddenly realised what she had done. In her jerky movement her hand had come free from Cilien's grasp and knocked clumsily, but firmly, against Cilien's face. Somewhere, Flynn could hear Arrow gasp. She stood, frozen to the spot by fear of the healer's retribution.

Cilien flew at her, grabbing her by the arms and manhandling her backwards, back towards the talan steps, towards a fall from the treetops. Flynn sensed the danger at hand and saw the wild fright in Brennewyn's eyes. Finally the apprentices stood to intervene, but they were too late and Flynn was already wriggling out of Cilien's grasp like a cat held by a careless child. She writhed under Cilien's arm and pushed her elbow roughly in the Elf's ribs to get clear.

Flynn skirted the edge of the talan, not sure how she planned to grab her bag with its precious locked box inside and get safely to the exit, and the enraged Elf lunged at her, forcing her backwards to the trunk of the tree that ran up through the talan, and pinned her there. Cilien's forearm was at Flynn's throat and her other hand at Flynn's shoulder, restraining her back. "You will pay for this," the Elf spat. "No-one attacks the master healer without punishment!"

"You attacked me!" Flynn choked out.

"That is not the way the apprentices saw it, is it now?" Cilien twisted to look at them. When Flynn struggled under her grip, the pressure on her throat unbearable, Cilien only pushed harder. The apprentices stared back at her, wide-eyed, and said nothing. "Is it?" she demanded.

Arrow jumped, startled, and shook her head. Flynn almost expected that response from Arrow, but it still stung. Brennewyn and Helmir did not respond. Brennewyn stared hard at Cilien. Cilien stared back. She weakened her grip momentarily, considering what to do about their misplaced loyalty, and in this moment Flynn sunk down quickly, out of the Elf's grasp, and dashed across the talan. She hastily grabbed her bag and headed for the stairs, and when Cilien shot after her, she was vaguely aware of Helmir grabbing Cilien by the shoulders and restraining her amid shrieks and shouts. Flynn turned when she reached the stairs, casting an imploring look at the apprentices who had been loyal to her, hoping they would be all right. Brennewyn stared at her sorrowfully, and Arrow strode across the talan with uncharacteristic vigour and hissed, "Just go!"

Flynn fled and did not look back, so did not hear, moments later, Cilien wailing and spouting false tears as she ran in the direction of the city centre.

- - - - -

Flynn buried her face in the pillows to muffle the sound of crying. Swiftly, unthinking, she had bolted across the forest realm back to her talan; her original talan, unshared with Legolas, now littered in drifts of leaves she had not been present to sweep, and gloomier somehow than it had ever been. She had fallen on to the bed, shaken and trembling, and now after the sun had moved along its arc and the grey evening was closing in, she remained there, shuddering, the pillow growing wet.

Flynn wanted suddenly to leave. She could not stay in a wood that housed the greatest threat she had ever known: an impossibly powerful, influential, excruciatingly bad-natured Elf. But she could not leave without the greatest love and comfort she could ever hope for: that prince among elves – who, even if he had never been royalty, would still be a prince to her – Legolas. What would he think when she told him what had happened?

Flynn needed not wait for an answer, for his voice was heavy when he ventured, "Flynn?"

Rolling over quickly and sitting up, she drew her knees into her arms, her dress falling in crinkled disarray. She couldn't begin to think what to say to him. How could she tell him what had happened, what she had said to Cilien? She could hardly believe the venom she had spat, the seething hatred she felt for Cilien in those few heated moments.

With one hand against the tree trunk that supported this platform, Legolas's stance was somehow uncertain. And what was that on Legolas's face? A scowl? Was he angry? Her stomach flipped.

He must have seen the abject distress in her eyes then, because his face softened just a touch; he even pursed his lips hesitantly. The Elf stared at her, and she stared back. When she could not take his glare any longer and glanced away, he finally said, "Flynn, I have heard something which disappoints me, and I wish to know if it is true."

Flynn narrowed her eyes, staring down at the patches of forest floor she could see from this height. There was accusation in his tone, as if he had already made up his mind. So Cilien had told her own vicious story, after all? Flynn's tone was cold and she did not look at him when she said, "What is it?"

Then her eyes snapped to his, daring him to say what she was sure he would, and was surprised to see his fingers scratch at the bark of the tree, preoccupied. Flynn thought she heard him exhale a small, exasperated breath through his nose, but it could have been the swish of leaf against leaf above.

"I wish not to bandy with words, so I will tell you directly: I have been told that you attacked Cilien today."

"What?" she exclaimed, her face screwing up into angry disbelief. "That is the biggest pile of horse dung I have –" She threw a pillow on to the floor frustratedly, not bothering to finish her sentence, glaring at Legolas. "You believed this?"

"I do not know what to believe," he said simply, folding his arms over his chest and leaning against the tree. He glanced pointedly at the pillow she cast down. "I have seen snatches of your temperament when you are angered."

Flynn rolled her eyes and looked around, disbelieving. "You think that I am capable of attacking someone for no reason?"

He seemed hesitant. "You have had good reason."

"Yes I have!" she agreed. "But I am not as base and hideous as _her _. I would not attack her!" Her shoulders slumped a little and she quietly said, "You have been lied to."

Flynn was surprised to hear Legolas sigh. The Elf crossed the talan then and kneeled at the edge of her bed, gazing up at her with a measure of the tenderness he usually held for his lover, and it nearly broke her. Even if she had not done what Cilien accused her of, she had still disappointed her Elf prince. "I hope so," he said softly.

"Believe what you will, Legolas. I thought you knew me better than that."

He frowned. "Sometimes I feel as if I do not know you at all."

Flynn could not argue. They both knew there was much she kept from him. She closed her eyes, tired of this jealous game Cilien played. Tired of justifying her existence. Tired of questioning whether loving Legolas was the right thing to do. Her sigh was long. "I made a promise to let you in, and I mean to keep it," she said. "You just –"

She rubbed between her eyes. "You just have to believe me, because I cannot prove to you that I am not lying."

Legolas nodded. "Cilien has said that you came to the lesson in an evident mood of foulness likened to the grey clouds of Mordor."

Flynn winced. "Now that is too much!"

"Yes. But I know better, for I recall precisely what we were doing early this morning, and I recall the waking dream on your face when you left." Flynn grinned, the memory warming. Legolas went on, "She told that she had been calmly reminding you that you must be studious and attend all of her lessons, when you snapped and flew at her, and tried to push her from the talan, and that when you did not succeed, you pinned her to a tree and fought off the apprentices, and it was only when you were distracted that she slipped away."

Flynn snorted. Of course Cilien would say that.

Legolas continued, "Cilien said that your strength was impossible and that you were surely not mortal, and not who you say you are. She said that you must be here for some fell purpose." His brow furrowed in obvious worry. "Flynn, she is trying to have you driven from Lórien."

Her eyes widened. She knew Cilien would twist the story to her own ends, but this was much worse than she thought. How could she imply that Flynn was not even human? "Lies, Legolas!" she cried, "What do I do? What will they do to me?"

Legolas didn't answer her question right away, only taking her hands in his and running his thumbs over the backs of them. "Flynn, you must tell me: what did happen today? What is the true story?"

Flynn bit her lip, knowing she must admit to the horrible things she had said. She took a shuddering breath and told the story, the emotion and fear of the encounter coming back to her and catching in her throat. Legolas listened with interest, and winced slightly at some of the remarks she had made to the healer. His eyes darkened with awakening fury when she recounted Cilien's words and her mad temper.

"So I did snap at her," Flynn admitted in conclusion, "and I did hit her, but that was an accident, and I was defending myself."

Legolas nodded. "What of the others? You say they were there, and intervened eventually. They know the truth, then?"

"Yes. But Cilien made it clear that they would remember it her way or... or risk being punished somehow, I guess."

"Did they agree to her demands?"

Flynn saw clearly the submissive face of Arrow, and hot anger flushed her. "Arrow agreed; that snivelling little..." She looked at Legolas, who had cocked an eyebrow, before she went on. "But Helmir and Brennewyn said nothing to it."

"Then at least others know the truth. Good," he said thoughtfully, glancing off to the side.

There was something clearly processing in his mind, and it worried Flynn. "Legolas, what will I need the word of the apprentices for?" she asked. "Surely none will believe Cilien once we have set them right?"

He captured her eyes in his and she could see a tiny vein of fear that chilled her to the core. "Flynn... Cilien has taken this matter to the elders. She has told her story to anyone who would stop for long enough to listen. She wants you punished."

Flynn withdrew as if burned and grimaced like there was a bitter taste in her mouth. "Legolas," she said in a frightened whisper. "I cannot deal with this. I cannot be here – I just... I didn't come here for this..."

Legolas rose and sat by her, and drew her gently into his arms. "I will not pretend to know what that means," he murmured, "but I know that you do not deserve this."

"What do we do?" she asked in a muffled sob against his chest. He ran a hand over her head, twining fingers through her hair, and sighed.

"There are but two paths we could take; neither are straight, nor strong."

Flynn raised her head to look at him, her eyes bright with tears and rimmed red. "Tell me," she bid hoarsely.

"We could enlist your apprentice friends to support our truth, and fight strong and hard with our words and our honesty, and hope that the truth prevails. And your name remains untainted."

"And why is that path not strong?" she asked hesitantly, a tiny bubble of hope growing inside her.

Legolas sighed again, avoiding her eyes. "Because I doubt with all my heart that the outcome would be in our favour. I do not think you underestimate Cilien's power, do you?"

Flynn's heart sank. "No," she replied dejectedly. "We would never win, would we?"

"I cannot know," he answered. "If we tried, at least we would know we had fought till the very last."

"Hmm," Flynn murmured. "You, of all people, should know how that can turn out for the better in the end."

Legolas said nothing, stroking her hair.

"And the other option?" she asked.

He looked down at her then and smiled. "To flee. To do what I my heart has wished since I first set eyes upon you, though I fought its desires for long: to bear you away with me to Ithilien, and worship you in my home, and proudly show all my kin there the beauty who has ensnared my heart." He sighed, and added wistfully, "This I have wished sorely."

Flynn smiled a bittersweet smile and looked up at him, and kissed him softly, intimately. "It sounds a lovely wish," she murmured against his lips. He brushed his lips across her cheek to her ear and planted light kisses.

"We could make it a wish come true," he whispered.

Flynn wanted so badly just to steal away with him to Ithilien, the fanciful land that had so captured Legolas's heart. They could love freely, and sing gaily, and dance nightly, and have feasts and parties, and she would make friends she could keep who would not leave her, and they could be far away from Cilien. But then she would no longer have any connections to the healing work. And she would not have Brennewyn, who, she realised suddenly, had been nothing but a loyal friend to her. And if she fled to Ithilien without staying to have her voice heard, she would only be running away. Again. She was beginning to sense a theme, of which she was not proud.

"Legolas," she began tenderly, "I do so want that wish of yours. I want it as much as you – perhaps more. I would love nothing more than to let you whisk me away this night and never see this place again. But then where would we be? I, an outlaw banished from Lórien – and all the lands between, no doubt; and you, an Elf prince with a mortal lover. I must stay and tell my story." She paused and took a breath, knowing that, with it, she was saying goodbye to her chances of becoming a great healer, though in truth she had said goodbye the moment she had ever said a snide word to Cilien. "And then we can go to Ithilien. If you will have me."

Legolas cocked his head and regarded her for a moment, a look of pride across his face. He kissed her softly on the nose. "You are brave, my love, and wiser than you know."

Flynn laughed voicelessly through her nose.

"What is it?" he asked.

She smiled. "Those words are funny, coming from you. You are braver and wiser than I ever will be."

He grinned and took a breath to reply, when a third voice cut in: "You will have to finish this flattery party later," it said, and Flynn gasped and glanced past Legolas, whose head had whipped around. There was Brennewyn on the top stair, clad strangely in dark breeches and a man's tunic, with a pack on her back and her hair tied back. "We must leave now if we are to go at all," she declared.

Flynn looked at the pretty Elf, dumbstruck, then back at Legolas who appeared similarly clueless.

"What do you mean, go? Why?" Flynn asked.

Brennewyn exhaled patiently then replied, "I am sorry to admit that I have intruded upon your privacy; I have been listening from below. I heard that it is your decision to stay here and fight for your honour, Flynn – and it is a noble thing, for certain – but you cannot. We must leave, now. Tonight."

"Why?" Flynn asked again.

"I am afraid there would be no use staying and awaiting your chance to tell the truth, Flynn. Cilien has encouraged the anger of the elders, and is playing on the age-old Lórien fear of foreigners. I fear greatly that none would persuade them of the truth of the story now. Not even me."

At this Legolas stiffened a little, and Flynn wondered what weight there was behind those words that she was not privy to. "What is their course of action?" Legolas asked.

"They will come for Flynn – perhaps before morning," Brennewyn said, "and will no doubt mete out their punishment directly. If she is lucky she will only be banished. It does not bear thinking about anything worse."

Legolas nodded, was silent for a long moment. Then he sprang into action, standing and pacing across the talan, gathering up Flynn's few belongings as he went. Flynn looked to Brennewyn. "Why would you leave here, too?" she asked. "You have so much here – your home, your apprenticeship..." She realised then that other than these things, she knew very little of what Brennewyn had here, or what else the Elf did.

"My apprenticeship is as well as dead," she answered, and at Flynn's horrified look added angrily, "and I am glad of it. I do not know how I stayed under the teachings of such a witch for so long."

"So you come with us?" Flynn asked, startled. The bubble of hope expanded.

Brennewyn looked at Legolas. "Only if I have the Lord of Ithilien's permission."

Legolas stopped gathering things and regarded her for a moment, head cocked. He said, "I would not have it any other way. Your years are wasted here, after all, and I could think of nothing better to enrich my home than the addition of two wonderful healers." He went back to collecting clothes from the floor, and with a bundle in his arms, moved to stuff them into Flynn's bag by the bed. She gave him a sharp look.

"No, I will pack it," she said, and quickly moved to take over. Fitting the clothes she had acquired in L ó rien into her bag with difficulty, she said to Brennewyn, "Your years?"

"Well..." the Elf started, "There has been no need to talk of such things before now, and a lady never does admit her age –" she winked, "but I am older even than Cilien."

"And matching in age many of the elders," Legolas added.

"So you would think they would have at least half the sense I have, alas..." Brennewyn frowned.

"And would listen to your recount of today," he chimed.

"Alas; again, alas. They fear Cilien's wrath as they never would mine, and you know yourself the sway she can hold even when in good spirits."

Legolas nodded gravely. Flynn's head swam with this news. Brennewyn was as ancient as these fabled elders she had yet to set eyes upon? It shocked Flynn to think of it: though she always suspected Brennewyn would be at least five or six hundred years older than her, she had no idea this Elf was old enough to be Legolas's mother. She saw Brennewyn in a different light suddenly; not as a maiden who could laugh with her about men and whisper conspiratorially about women, but as a crone who knew far more than she ever let on, and judged character with a keen eye. And she had chosen to befriend Flynn – and even approved of her love for Legolas. Flynn flushed with guilt at the thought that she did not even know if Brennewyn had ever wed.

"We must away," Legolas compelled them hastily. "I see you are prepared, Brennewyn; I am afraid we have no time to provision ourselves, but I do not want to be a drain on your supplies."

Brennewyn grinned. "I have food for three and good cheer for hundreds. I need only your expertise as a warrior, Legolas, and your great healing talent, Flynn, should we run into trouble."

Flynn gulped hesitantly. "What now?"

"Is there time to return to my talan and gather my things?" Legolas asked. "I have not much, but I do not think that anyone here will care to return my belongings if we leave in this way. And if I can find Thienving I may procure horses from him and tell him our story, lest he think Cilien's foul tales are true."

"If you are swift, silent, and unseen, then yes," Brennewyn answered.

"Always," Legolas assured her, and he bent and kissed Flynn tenderly, and squeezed her hand. "Stay here with Brennewyn and await my return. I promise I will be quick."

"Be safe," she whispered, fear tightening her throat.

He smiled and kissed her forehead, and then he was gone.

Brennewyn crossed the talan slowly and sat by Flynn, who stared at the floor, disbelieving that any of this was really happening. Was she really going to flee the woodland realm like a guilty criminal, like a dog, tail between legs, dragging with her two people she held dear?

Brennewyn cast an arm around her and squeezed lightly. "It will be better for us all to go like this, ere they can slander your name officially. This way, all that is left of you will be unfounded rumour, and most of the elves do not stoop to such base things."

"Maybe for me, it is better," she said softly, biting back tears. "But look what I have done to your good name, and Legolas's."

"Silly Flynn, did I not tell you mere moments ago that I wished to be rid of this foolish bondage, this pretence that I really care what Cilien teaches? And as for what others will think, I can only say that I am far too old to care."

"But Legolas –"

"You have a great Elf in Legolas. Those who know him will know that our story is the true one, and those who do not, do not matter."

"I wish I could see it like that, Brennewyn. I feel like a common villain."

"A common villain is more interesting than a common peasant, no?" she jested. "I am sorry; this is not a time for humour."

Flynn allowed a tiny grin. This must be why she liked Brennewyn so much: levity in a crisis. "So why did you keep this apprenticeship if you could not stand Cilien? Surely there are other things you could do?"

"I suppose. But at my age I have near done them all. It was something new to try, something with which to pass the time." Her tone was bittersweet, and it made Flynn sadder.

"I did not know elves merely passed the time."

Brennewyn gazed into the mid-distance. "It is uncommon, you are right," she agreed. She glanced sidelong at Flynn, who looked at her imploringly. "Do you want to know my truth, Flynn?" she asked suddenly.

Flynn did not hesitate. "Of course! I feel such a wretch having never asked you these things when all the while you knew so much about me."

"I would not say that," Brennewyn grinned, "you have your secrets." Flynn bit her lip and Brennewyn continued. "My truth – my story, if you like – is that I am waiting. These small tasks like healing are just distractions; I am simply passing the time while I wait."

Flynn cocked her head to one side, curious. "What are you waiting for?"

Brennewyn sighed wistfully. "A ship."

"A ship?"

"In a manner of speaking. I am not waiting for a ship to come in... I am waiting for the strength and the courage to build one. Perhaps I am waiting for someone to go to the harbours with me and help me, so I will not sail alone." Her voice was quiet now, as though speaking from a place far away, as though her heart had long since abandoned her.

Flynn thought she understood. This wise, old Elf was ready to sail to Valinor where she would join her kin in the Undying Lands and leave Middle-earth far behind. Here the elves had lived for thousands of years, once the dominant race, creating beauty and song wherever they went, but now the land belonged to the humans, and the elves sensed their time ending. Valinor would draw them back, and there they would live eternally with those who made the journey over the sea. It was a normal desire for an Elf, but one that saddened Flynn. She said, "Are there are none here who would go with you? Surely there are many in this wood who intend to go west."

"Perhaps," she murmured. "But I would not make the journey with anyone less than worthy. Though I fear the worthy one left long ago."

"There was someone?"

Brennewyn nodded slowly. "Noridan was his name. He was my lover – and my life. We were wed one summer, so long ago I remember little of the golden leaves and the fair sun of those days. But I shall never forget his face." She paused thoughtfully. "But he is gone now; he sailed west with his kin, and I stayed, fulfilling my duties to the Lady of the Golden Wood."

"Galadriel?" Flynn breathed.

"I was one of her attendants. It was my duty, and an honour, to serve her. I would not leave unless she and her Lord did, but Noridan was compelled by his family to go. How my heart sang that I should go with him! Alas, I was sworn to the Lady. I fare-welled him, and I admired his ship, the dark wood, the high sails. I promised I would join him when my Lady sailed and there was nothing left to bind me here."

"But you did not."

"I tarried. I was not ready to leave when the rest did. I vowed I would build a ship, but I did not feel strong enough for the task alone. A century, at least, has passed, I think, and I have not yet begun. I think of Noridan every moment. I search for him in my mind, but I cannot find him. The West is veiled. I hope he awaits my return still. I will come for him." Brennewyn sighed, very softly. "So, you see, I have such hope for your bond with Legolas. There is little more tragic than true love stemmed when it has barely begun."

Tears stung at Flynn's eyes. Brennewyn's was the saddest story she had heard in a long while – and she was already in a fragile state. How heartbreaking, to be separated so thoroughly from your lover by duty and distance, and how saddening to have to do so much if you ever hoped to return to them. "Do you think you will find someone to help you, in Ithilien?" she asked gingerly.

"Yes. I feel it."

There was a gravitas in her voice that piqued Flynn's curiosity, and she was about to ask how Brennewyn knew for sure, when she heard the thud of horses' hooves from somewhere off in the forest. The sound approached quickly. Her heart stopped. Surely they could not have come for her yet? Brennewyn stood quickly, her pose a picture of readiness. It was only then that Flynn noticed the quiver at Brennewyn's back; odd, because she was sure elven ladies did not usually fight. Flynn rose hastily, slinging her pack over her back and wishing she were more prepared for this. She could at least have had her knife at the ready, not that she thought she would really use it given she was already accused of violence towards an Elf.

Flynn scooted over to the edge of the tree where the stairs joined the platform and hid behind it, waiting on the noises below to betray who was there. Brennewyn drew her bow from the strap at her back painfully slowly, careful not to make a noise. As she did, Flynn glanced around and spied something laying on the far side of the talan which she knew she could not leave behind no matter who might be coming for her up the stairs this very moment: the longbow gifted to her by Legolas. She had not used it since the day she had told him to stay away from her, but now it seemed vital, and now she regretted not having practised more.

Glancing back at Brennewyn, biting her lip, Flynn noticed the Elf had re-sheathed her bow. At the same time a familiar warmth seemed to suffuse her torso, spreading out from the base of her spine, and she knew then that Legolas was present somewhere far below. Brennewyn glanced at Flynn and began to say something, but Flynn mouthed, "I know." Brennewyn gave the woman a wink and a smile, and stood, hands on hips, seemingly awaiting instruction. Flynn trotted across to her bow and quiver and shouldered them clumsily. She would have to figure out how to fit them on with her bag as well.

Legolas sprinted up the stairs and halted, catlike, at the top, his cloak flying about him and his weapons at his back. He was certainly quick to ready. "We must away," he said hastily, "I have secured my horse and yours, Flynn, and Thienving has persuaded the stable hands not to alert anyone to the fact." Legolas glanced from Flynn to Brennewyn, then turned quickly and descended again. "Come!" he commanded, not looking back.

"Isilyn..." Flynn murmured, chagrined suddenly that she had not yet thought of the welfare of the horse that had been so patient with her. "Oh, I should have changed!" she lamented. "I cannot ride in a gown!"

Brennewyn was already making her way down to the forest floor. "We can ride together, if you like," she called back.

"She rides with me!" Legolas's voice came from below. The authority of it sent a shiver up Flynn's spine – a pleasant shiver that she would have to explore later – and it spurred her to action. She grabbed her travelling cloak from where it hung, slung it over her awkwardly, bow and all, and cast one last cursory glance around the talan. She was struck suddenly with sorrow that she would never see it again. She swallowed it down, and left.

Brennewyn had already mounted Isilyn, and Legolas sat tensely upon Rhaia's back. Momentarily comforted to see the horses again, Flynn could not forget how Rhaia had been so instrumental in her fall from the cliff those months ago. Legolas cast his hand out for her, and she allowed him to help her up. She settled in behind him, slipping her arms around his waist and pressing against him when she was ready. The solid strength of his body was a comfort. He kicked the horse into action, his knees and hands his guides as they rode rein- and saddle-free in the traditional elven way. They headed swiftly south-east, away from Caras Galadhon. Cilien would be on the other side of the city, Flynn thought. If the master healer followed, she would surely not catch them... would she?


	20. Flight

**20****  
****FLIGHT**

It was hours before they reached the edge of Lórien wood. The Celebrant stream's clear water carved a vein through the forest and now emerged free. The absconders stopped to let the horses drink, and Flynn took the opportunity to re-arrange her burdens for riding. She quickly pulled on her old corduroy jeans underneath her dress. Legolas trotted over to her, leaving the horses under Brennewyn's watch. He was unlacing Flynn's gown before she knew he was there, and she jumped, startled, before bursting into a laugh. Legolas pulled the gown carefully over her head, letting his fingers glance across her skin, and she shivered. The Elf grinned. Gently he took the shirt from her hands, ran his fingers along her inner arms as she raised them, and pulled her shirt on, taking care to brush his fingers over her skin.

"Stop it," Flynn whispered with a giggle, "I will not have any of my wits about me if you keep touching me like that. And Brennewyn is right there!"

Legolas leaned in and bit her earlobe gently, one hand stroking her stomach and the other tracing an electric line down her face. "You have no secrets," he murmured, "She hears everything you say."

Flynn glanced over at Brennewyn, who looked over at them and cocked an eyebrow, an amused grin on her lips. "Never mind me," she sang gaily, "I am accustomed to hearing far too many things I should not!" She strolled away along the edge of the stream, filling her flask.

Deciding to play Legolas's game, Flynn suddenly ran one hand down his back, over his hip and over his buttock, where she took a hearty grab. He jumped a little, and grinned. "I will have none of my wits if you keep touching me like that," he said, echoing her words.

"You have no secrets," she grinned, echoing his. He sighed and pulled her close, and she wrapped her arms around him. "I wish we could have had some privacy, Legolas – ever. I feel everything we have said and done has been watched. I know that Brennewyn does not judge us, but you elves do not miss a thing, and it is starting to wear my nerves," she said.

He rubbed her back slowly. "I know. We must be patient. My home will afford us all the privacy we could ever need, and this will be nothing but memory."

"You say that now, but what will your people think of me? What if I am no more welcome in Ithilien than I have been here, Legolas?"

Legolas cupped her chin with his fingers and looked into her eyes. "If the Prince of Mirkwood and Lord of Ithilien welcomes you as his love and companion, why should they feel otherwise?"

Flynn withdrew one arm and caught a lock of his hair up in her finger, twirling it absently. "They have their own minds; they may not think the same of me as you do. After all, look what happened in Lórien," she sighed, gazing past him to the dark line of trees that marked the boundary of the wood. She narrowed her eyes. Did she see movement?

Legolas spun quickly as her face changed. He did not need to squint to see the line of Lórien archers forming at the edge of the wood. He cursed and shouted to Brennewyn in Elvish that was quicker than Flynn could quite understand, and Flynn whirled to see Brennewyn rounding the horses back from the stream, her footsteps light and quick. She mounted Isilyn with fluidity and brought the horse round towards her friends. "Flynn!" she called, "Come with me! They have followed us!"

Flynn stood for a moment, dumbstruck, and glanced quickly from Brennewyn to the forest and back as if watching some macabre tennis match. Legolas drew an arrow from his quiver, his bow at the ready. The deathly look in his burning eyes shocked Flynn from her reverie, and she pulled on her bow and quiver, then slung her pack on so it sat against her chest. She ran to Brennewyn on the horse. Brennewyn slung out a hand as Flynn reached her, and Flynn did not give a thought to what she was doing as she grabbed Brennewyn's hand and allowed the Elf to hoist her up on the horse with a strength incongruous with her lithe feminine form.

"What are they doing?" Flynn asked, her voice squeaking over the panic.

Brennewyn kept the horse still, but tension crackled in the air and Isilyn was visibly impatient. Legolas stood at the ready, his eye trained down the shaft of the arrow, waiting.

"There is a line of archers," Brennewyn answered, "They have bows nocked, but they do not shoot." She shielded her eyes from the low dusk light slicing across the land. "It is as I thought," she added, "They are led by Cilien and the elders."

Flynn snorted with disbelief. "Cilien? I would not have thought she could lead a band of soldiers. She is no warrior!"

Brennewyn laughed bitterly. "No, she is not. She is, however, gifted in giving orders that others follow without question."

Flynn shivered, partly with the cold wind blowing across the plain and partly with fear. If the Lórien elves pursued them, they were doomed.

Suddenly Legolas arched back, pulling the arrow tauter against the string, aiming for the sky. Flynn's whole body tensed. He released. Flynn watched, stupefied, until she heard a distinct crack, and the peculiar looping whooshes of something unbalanced falling from the air. There was a thud, and women's eyes searched the grass while Legolas swung up on to his horse, and they saw it at the same time: one Lórien arrow shot straight through its centre by another.

"They shoot at us!" Legolas called back to them. "Fly! Do not tarry!"

Brennewyn nodded and prompted Isilyn to turn, but Flynn bellowed back, her voice hindered by the wind, "I cannot leave you!"

Legolas glanced back frustratedly, already nocking another arrow. "You must! I will not be far behind!"

Flynn bit her lip, staring him down angrily. How dare he ask her to leave him in danger? Would he ever leave her if she asked? But his will was stronger, and she thought the fire in his eyes was enough to quail the heart of the foulest Balrog. Flynn nodded reluctantly. Brennewyn kicked Isilyn to flee.

Legolas shot another arrow into the air. It fell with another impaled upon it. A chill ran up Flynn's spine, but there was no time to linger on the fear. Isilyn's back shifted uncomfortably beneath her legs and she gripped Brennewyn's sides as they sped away. But she kept her eyes on her beloved, who squeezed the horse between his knees, twisting backwards as Rhaia took off, drawing his bow once again. Were Flynn not so deathly afraid for him, she could have admired the clean curve of his spine and the proud, perfect angles he made as he nocked a bow and kept Rhaia on her steady course – but there was nothing like being shot at by deadly archers to make one lose one's focus.

Suddenly he was riding harder, and approached the fleeing females so closely that Flynn could hear the shudder of Rhaia's breaths, hard and determined. Legolas was catching them up! He faced back towards the forest and aimed for the sky one more time, the sinew of his arms straining. The string reverberated as he let go the arrow and it pierced yet another that headed through the sky towards the escapees.

Rhaia's hooves pounded the earth as she rode up beside Isilyn and then overtook her as Legolas sheathed his bow and sat forward, urging the mare faster. Brennewyn squeezed Isilyn again and the horse took off with gusto, and the two mares were galloping along side by side, with Flynn gripping Brennewyn for dear life, unsure how long her very limited experience on speeding horses would allow her to ride like this.

Soon Legolas slowed. Brennewyn followed suit. Tense, Flynn looked back to see the edge of the forest disappearing with the horizon. There was nothing else to see; no dark cloud along the grass where the elves chased on their horses, no volley of arrows in the sky.

"They are not following us!" she called to Legolas.

"No," he agreed. "They wished only to frighten us away, I think."

"Cowards," Brennewyn muttered, slowly pulling Isilyn to a halt and twisting in her seat to get a good look at the western horizon, her keen elven eyes no doubt picking up far more than Flynn had seen. Flynn was almost certain she caught the edge of a challenge in Brennewyn's words, as though she had wanted to fight the master healer for all she was worth.

Legolas rounded on them, preoccupation and concern on his fair face. Flynn felt strangely calm; Cilien had proved herself more bark than bite, as Flynn had suspected she would. She gave Legolas a sympathetic look, and he afforded her a wan smile. It was only then that Flynn noticed how sore she was from bumping along on the horse, and she winced.

Legolas remarked, "If we move at a slower pace we should still reach the river before full dark." He glanced around at the murky dusk settling in slate clouds backlit by watery yellow sun. Legolas kicked Rhaia gently, and they moved off.

Legolas advised Flynn against building a fire when they stopped, hours after dark, along the riverbank. They had reached the juncture of the stream Celebrant and the River Anduin just as the curtain of dark was fully drawn, as Legolas predicted. They continued south, putting as much distance as they could between them and Lórien. The horses waded in the shallows of the water, covering both tracks and scents. Legolas was wary.

Flynn sat and took supper from provisions Brennewyn had brought, but the elves did not eat, instead discussing the tactics of Lórien, Legolas wearing a little path as he paced up and down the riverbank, Brennewyn sharpening her hunting knife on a stone by the water.

"I do not think we should underestimate Cilien's wrath," Legolas warned. "They may follow us yet."

"I have much doubt for that," Brennewyn said, wetting her knife. "I have studied under her for long. She is words, and nothing more. She aims to frighten; that is how she gains her power."

"Yes. But I feel this is not the end," he countered. "I knew her long ago, and well. She will not rest until she has won – one way or another."

Flynn bit down hard on her bread when he mentioned his past with Cilien, and snagged the inside of her cheek, crying out in pain. Both elves looked over at her. "It's nothing," she mumbled. "I bit myself."

Brennewyn winced in sympathy, then turned back to Legolas, who was preoccupied, gazing at the pebbled bank. He squatted and picked up a smooth stone, turning it over in his hand, examining it. For a moment, longing tugged at Flynn, and she wished that he were not so absorbed in this tactical discussion and would just hold her; tell her that everything would be all right. But at that very moment he looked straight at her, and the clarity in his eyes made her wonder if he knew what she was thinking. Surely not?

"We must be on our guard, in any case," Legolas concluded, casting the stone out over the water, where it skipped across the surface, catching on the rippled peaks highlighted by the moon. Brennewyn sighed faintly and went back to sharpening her knife, metal scraping over rock. Legolas stood then and trotted up the bank to where Flynn had begun to wrap Brennewyn's food parcels and put them away. He tugged his travelling cloak from his shoulders and, positioning himself behind Flynn so that she sat between his legs and could rest against his chest, he settled the cloak over them both. Flynn sighed and lay back. Legolas rested his chin on the top of her head.

Brennewyn inspected her knife, holding it up to the dim moonlight. It reminded Flynn of the surprise she had had at seeing that Brennewyn wielded arrows just like the male elves. "Brennewyn," she said, "Are you trained as a warrior as well as a healer?"

Brennewyn laughed softly and answered, "As well as other things, yes. I am viable as a soldier if I need to be."

"Forgive my ignorance of elven customs if I am wrong, but I thought that lady elves did not fight?"

"For the most, you are right," Brennewyn said, sheathing her knife. "Lady elves who have borne children and are otherwise occupied do not fight. They keep the dwellings of the elves in fine form. But all are trained to fight, and young maidens and those without charges to care for, still can." There was an edge of regret in her voice.

It was obvious to Flynn now. If Brennewyn's lover had sailed while she was still bound to her duties for the queen, then of course she had no children: her story was sadder still. Flynn hoped for Brennewyn that the Elf would finally have the means to build her ship after they reached Ithilien for Ithilien was close to the Anduin and enjoyed quick passage to the sea. Brennewyn would be nearer to her dream there.

With hopeful thoughts and Legolas stroking her softly under the cloak, Flynn yawned, not realising how exhausted she was, and soon her eyelids drooped and she nodded off.

- - - - -

Flynn was far away. Her _fëa_ was faint, no longer reaching for him the way it normally did. Legolas was certain she was not aware of the fact, but it sang for him constantly, its sound such sweet music to his ear. Sometimes he felt as though he could willingly drown in it and happily die, forsaking his immortality for just one more moment of her soul's rich song. But this moment she slept deeply, completely unhearing, her life force far away in the hall of dreams, and he knew he could speak freely, if quietly.

Legolas gazed down at her face, all strength and beauty, its planes carved starkly by the moonlight. Brennewyn's question seemed far away, but he knew she was watching him expectantly. "I do not know what will become of us," he answered truthfully. "I only know that I want her for always." But he did not fail to see the irony, knowing there could be no 'always' for them.

"It is plain for all to see that your feelings are pure – and true," Brennewyn murmured. Both were trying not to wake the sleeping Flynn, knowing they would be afforded little privacy for this conversation before they reached Ithilien and he would be besieged with questions.

Legolas knew Brennewyn was only trying to help prepare him, but in truth this had been on his mind constantly since he had admitted to himself his true feelings for the Mortal.

"I only hope that the disapproval I face will be borne out by the strength of our feeling," he admitted.

"I have no doubt it is strong enough," Brennewyn reassured him, "as long as you remain honest with one another. You must be one other's biggest ally now. Those who oppose your joining will seek out any scent of division between you, and pry at it until they crack you open."

"My heart is unwavering," he said, and gazed down at his lover. "And I have faith in her heart, but I will admit to you that I cannot forget the tales told of mortals; their inconstant hearts, their wandering desires..." He sighed. "Do you believe the tales?"

"Some of them are true. They are certainly more impulsive and rash than we, on the whole," Brennewyn confirmed. "But I like them very much."

"As do I," Legolas said, a smile teasing on his lips. "I think I am the original Mortal-lover. Sometimes I wonder if they are the bane of my existence."

Brennewyn laughed. "But you have befriended the best mortals. And I have faith in those ones." She looked at Flynn, "Can you not sense the strength of her, the clarity of vision? She has foresight enviable among her race, and fortitude like to the royal lines."

"Certainly I see these things, and much more besides!" Legolas said passionately. "That is why she is such a rarity, such a gem to me as I did not expect ever to find, nor was I seeking!" He lowered his voice, aware of Flynn stirring. "But I hold fear; I am not indestructible. I have the strength to face a million foes who march against my kin, but I do not know if I can hold fast against my kin marching against me alone."

"You speak of your father and the elves in Eryn Lasgalen?"

"No – my father has long since expected me to return to him. I am his son fully grown with his own lands now, and his own choices. It is my kin in Ithilien about whom I worry, my dear friends in my home. If they do not welcome her, Brennewyn, I do not know what I will do."

"Legolas, you have no faith that your kin look up at you as a leader. Were you not who they chose to follow to the far-off southern lands, trusting completely in your guidance and your plans? They have no reason to waver now. You have always defied what others thought you would do and become. There is not a soul in your land who should expect you to follow the well-trodden path."

Legolas conceded that she argued a very good point. Who would still have any hope that he would ever bring home an Elf-maid, especially at his age, now long beyond when most elves has chosen a mate? Perhaps they would welcome Flynn's coming as a cause for relief that the Prince of Mirkwood would no longer live alone. But a tiny twinge of sadness reminded him that even that was only temporary. He would be alone again someday, when she was long gone, resting in the Halls of Men. But he could not dwell on that thought. There was nothing he could do about her mortality. Legolas could only live in this moment; this moment where he stroked her still-young hair and smooth face, and listened to her long breaths by the running river. He squeezed her gently, thanking the Valar for this gift he did not understand, and held her until morning.

- - - - -

As far as they knew, the Lórien elves did not follow them. It was ten days' ride to the juncture of the River Entwash and the Anduin, where the northern borders of Ithilien lay, and from there another three to reach Legolas's own township near the hills of Emyn Arnen. They rode steadily, stopping only for Flynn to sleep at night and for the horses to rest. They often took repast whilst riding, from the lembas Brennewyn had stolen from the sculleries. They did not talk as much as Flynn would have liked. The wind whipped loudly across the yellow plains and rendered speech difficult. And besides this, Legolas had been distracted for days.

There was something Flynn could not identify in his eyes, and when he looked at her he shielded her from whatever had overcome him. But she could see much more than he knew. It was unnerving that she was calmer than he; she could not explain why, but she no longer felt the guilt and fear of the criminal she had been made out to be. Now she felt free, released from the oppression of Cilien's tyranny. The horizon was bright, but there was far too much weight on her lover's brow.

Flynn rode with Legolas mostly, transferring the burden of two riders to Isilyn every few days. She and Brennewyn talked of trivial things to while the time away along the endless miles of open plain. During those times, Legolas rode silently, withdrawing into his thoughts, but a sidelong jest from Flynn here and there about the haughtiness of the elves occasionally drew a smile from him, though he pretended not to listen. Brennewyn told Flynn tales of her time serving the Lady of Lórien; the grandeur of the royal quarters, the beauty of Galadriel, the mischief of the maids. Though Brennewyn's role for much of her life had been bound in servitude, it did not sound as though serving the Lady had been anything but a joy. Flynn ceased to wonder why she had not fought harder to join Noridan when he sailed. But all through Brennewyn's happy reminiscing, Flynn caught the regret in her voice. The Elf wondered even now if her choice had been the right one. Flynn assured her she would build her boat from Ithilien, and Legolas looked around, listening, when Brennewyn said, "I am sure of it."

Men of Gondor patrolled the Anduin this far south, and Legolas secured passage on a barge crossing the Anduin just south of the Entwash, where Rohan became Gondor. Flynn was in awe of these men, who flew great flags and wore hauberks bearing the white tree of Gondor, whose default language was the Westron, and whose voices were coarse to her. They were chivalrous and quick to act when she slipped and half-fell into the swiftly running river, and pulled her from the water with strong human arms and offered her hot milk when they reached the eastern shore. She would have liked to stop awhile and converse with these Gondorians, but Legolas was determined to press on into Ithilien, and they soon left the Anduin far behind. She hoped that she would see Gondor again. She did not know that she never would.

When she rode with Legolas, Flynn was compelled to draw him from his reverie, and shortly after they had crossed the river, she asked him to again describe his home in Ithilien. His face was joyful when he recalled for her the long nights spent dancing in the firelight, the sound of elven song lifting through the forest in a joyful way he had thought would remain ever only in his childhood, and the tantalising scent of a hearty roast wafting through the colony on a summer's eve. Excitedly he explained how his dearest friend, Gimli the Dwarf, would be waiting for him in Ithilien, and he could sample a fine dwarven roast once again.

But his mention of Gimli stirred up something unwelcome in Flynn, and Legolas's voice faded from her ears. For a while Flynn had forgotten about this Dwarf, this friend of Legolas who would be at his home in Ithilien soon, if not already. She knew that if Legolas requested his presence for support, the Dwarf would go to him without question. Gimli was a great friend to him, a devoted companion who had, according to Tolkien, sailed West with him in roughly 120 of the Fourth Age... and that was just it. Legolas was fated to leave Middle-earth – soon. So how did she fit into this? How was she interrupting the cosmic order of things, she wondered, forcing herself upon Middle-earth? Would it all play out as if she weren't there; would things fated to happen still happen? And then shiver ran down her spine as she remembered one key piece of her lover's life: _Legolas never had a wife._

From in front of her Legolas went suddenly rigid. "Is something the matter?" he asked.

Flynn bit her lip hard. If everything happened according to the fate written by Tolkien, then when would she be written out? Was she doomed to fall afoul of Legolas somehow, and lose his love, and die here when he sailed for the Undying Lands? Unconsciously, she squeezed her Elf tighter. He placed one hand over hers, and the sudden brush of bare skin snapped her from this reverie. "Nothing is the matter," she lied.

"Now that is not wholly true. I sense a change in you."

There were times when she really did not appreciate his perceptiveness, and she deflected him, saying, "It is not I who has been changed these last few days. I worry for you, Legolas – you are different."

Legolas tilted his chin by his shoulder, trying to get a better look at Flynn behind him. "How so?"

"You are distracted – worried, even. I am the one the Lórien elves want to capture, and even I am not as preoccupied as you. In fact it almost seems your heart grows heavier the closer we get to your home." Flynn stole a glance at Brennewyn then, uncomfortable having this conversation publicly, but Brennewyn was already humming to herself, moving surreptitiously further away from them.

"I fear if I were to mask the truth you would see it right away, so I may as well answer you plainly," Legolas admitted. He took a long breath and went on, "My heart quails somewhat, the closer we get to my home. You are right in this. It shames me to admit to you, but I fear that my people will not look kindly upon our union, Flynn."

Flynn sighed. "I fear that, too. But I thought you of all people would be able to stand up against it. And if I can attack Cilien unprovoked," she said with a bitter laugh, "then surely I can defend myself, no?"

Legolas allowed a smirk to play across his face; Flynn could see one corner of his mouth twist upwards. "I, too, think that we are both strong," he assured her. "But my home is my home. It is not somewhere we can run from if we encounter anything such as we faced in Lórien. That is all. It is perhaps not worth thinking about, for there is nothing we can do."

But it _was _worth thinking about, to Flynn. Was this how she would be written out of his life – was it the disapproval of the elves of Ithilien that was to drive her out? She said, "Are you saying that if your kin do not like me then there is nothing we can do and we just have to give this whole thing up?"

"Flynn, I –"

"Because that is what it sounded like," she interrupted, feeling like fate was giving her a peek at the cards it would deal to her. "Legolas, if your kin in Ithilien are that important to you – and I know they are, as they rightly should be – then I do not want to stand in the way of their respect for you as a leader. I do not want you to take any nonsense just because of me. If it comes down to you having to make a choice, I want you to choose them."

And then Tolkien's writings would be true, and she wouldn't have to wonder anymore.

Legolas stopped the horse. He turned so he could face Flynn better. "I think I may be imagining things," he said. "I thought that I just heard you say it would be best if I let you go."

Flynn gazed out over the grassy plain, avoiding his eyes. "I did."

"You surprise me, love. I would not ever have thought to hear such words come from your fair mouth. Had the past not shown me that you are ever vigilant in your fight for me, I would have thought you serious." He cocked his head, searching her face.

Who was she to mess with what was already written? "I was serious."

"Forgive me," he said softly, "but I do not understand this change of heart. Did you not tell me you love me?"

His tone was leading. She bit her lip as tears stung her eyes. "Yes. I do love you."

"Did we not already show that we laugh in the face of opposition?"

Now that it was he having to reassure her that things would be fine, his strange about-face vaguely amused Flynn. As soon as someone else was in peril, he was a pillar of stone, an unwavering tower of strength. That would be ever so useful to know if they were to have a long future together, she thought. But no; the fates had said otherwise, had they not?

"It matters not, Legolas," she said. "If we cannot live happily and freely, then what is the point?"

"My love, you forget that happy we will be if we have one another."

Flynn continued staring out across the landscape. "That is a fanciful dream. You cannot deny that this whole... _thing_ will be marred by sorrow."

She looked in his face then, and his eyes darkened. Still they had not spoken of the problem brooked by his immortality, and her lack thereof.

"This is not the time to speak of such things," he said, his tone deep and reprimanding. "I bear you to my home because I wish for the world to rejoice in my happiness. I have found love – love for which I have waited nigh on a thousand years, and never hoped to find – and I do not wish to think of things which may or may not happen."

Legolas's denial of the truth was almost endearing. Certainly the Ithilien elves may not oppose Flynn, but when it came to the immortality problem and Flynn's inevitable death, there was no doubt about it. But when she looked into his face, she knew in her heart of hearts that she did not want him to choose his kin over her at all. Finally, she sighed softly, and said, "Let us not talk about this. We will see what happens when we arrive in Ithilien." _When Tolkien prevails._

Legolas turned again so he was facing ahead. "We already are in my lands," he informed her; "We passed the borders during the night. It is but a few days to Emyn Arnen, and my home."

Flynn's stomach flipped: they were in Ithilien already. She glanced around, taking in the scenery, but it was hardly different than the landscape they had been plodding over for nearly two weeks. Legolas halted the horse suddenly and cried out. It did not take elven eyesight to see why: there, along the ridge that lay ahead of them, lined by a row of trees, shadows appeared. A line of sentinels was forming, guarding the land of Ithilien. The trees were as the bars of a jail, and tall forms on foot moved between them, their silhouettes dark as the wood they hid behind. Brennewyn stopped ahead of Flynn and Legolas and waited for them to catch up. "Border guards," she announced when Legolas pulled up beside her. "They are heavily armed, though by my eyes they are Elf-kind."

"My eyes divine the same," Legolas agreed. "I do not see their faces clearly, but they move as my own people."

"Are these your kin?" Flynn dared to ask from behind him.

"If they are, they have no need of their weapons, or this defensive formation. Do they not know me?" His question was directed at himself.

"It does not look like it," Flynn commented, and Legolas's head snapped around towards her, though he could not turn fully. He was clearly annoyed, and unsettled.

"Well," Flynn announced exasperatedly, sliding her bow from its sheath and reaching up for an arrow, "I have just about had enough of being ganged up on by armed guards everywhere I go." She brought the bow up within her sights clumsily, preparing to position the arrow. "I know I cannot aim to save myself, but we can at least look like we would put up a fight, right?" She nocked the arrow and drew the string taut, unsure how long she could hold it straight and maintain a brave façade.

"What are you doing?" It was Legolas in a loud whisper, though there was no possible way the row of sentinels could hear any of their speech from this far away. Her bow was lined up by Legolas's ear, and without looking at it, he reached up and jerked the whole affair from her hands, arrow and all. "This is not the time to be hasty," he scolded. He looked ahead at the guards, their figures cutting the light as they moved along the ridge and paused, waiting. His forehead was furrowed in thought. "I must speak to them," he said commandingly. Promptly he sprang from the horse, handed Flynn her weapons back with a cautionary look, and set out across the flat grass.


	21. Haven

**This chapter has been edited to remove NC-17 content. The story is also presented in full version at the web address listed in my profile.**

Author's note: 'Lord Gimli' is a reference to him being Lord of the Glittering Caves, not a lord in Ithilien.

**21 – HAVEN**

- - - - -

Legolas took long, purposeful strides across the field. His long hair was abandoned behind him, whipping over his shoulders in the wind. Flynn was tense. How could he just go charging up to a well-trained company of elven soldiers – armed soldiers, at that? She shielded her eyes with her hand and could pick out his lithe form slowing as he drew nearer to them, until finally she lost sight of him among the trees. She chewed anxiously on her lip, and Rhaia shifted impatiently.

"Brennewyn, what do you see?" Flynn called, knowing the Elf's eyes could still pick out Legolas's form on the ridge.

Brennewyn looked back to Flynn. "He speaks with them; nothing more. It appears as though the one he spoke to has gone to fetch someone else – whoever commands them, I would think."

At least they had not shot him on sight.

Suddenly Flynn heard a wavering whistle carry on the wind. The note vacillated in a strangely mesmeric way and both horses raised their heads, ears rotating forward to the sound. Then both Rhaia and Isilyn took off unexpectedly in the direction of the whistle. A startled Flynn clutched at Rhaia's mane for dear life as Brennewyn regained her faltering balance on Isilyn and took some control over her speed. But Rhaia was determined, and swiftly the ridge rose up to meet them, and her white feet were pounding up the hill until Flynn could see Legolas heartily embracing another Elf, and Rhaia came to a thundering halt directly in front of them. She waited, snorting happily.

Brennewyn was came hurtling up from behind and halted a little back from Flynn, who was busy trying not to look as though she had just been kidnapped by a rampant horse she did not know how to ride. She shifted uncomfortably, her pelvis sore from the long hours riding. Eyes were upon her, and she could feel herself going red. Towering above everyone else on this well-bred horse well out of her league, she glanced nervously down at the faces before her. All were armed archers, all elves and almost all dark-haired. They bore a striking resemblance to Legolas in attire, all earthy greens and browns. Could they tell she was not an Elf just by looking at her? Her hair was bound in a single braid and covered her ears, and both she and Brennewyn were now dressed in male clothing, for easier riding. Flynn smiled nervously around – and then Legolas put her out of her misery.

"Here are Flynn of Stralis, and Brennewyn of Lórien," he said, his attentions directed at the Elf whom he had embraced, his voice measured to carry through the company so all would hear. The faces she saw were blank when Legolas announced Flynn, but showed recognition when he mentioned Lórien. She did not fail to notice he had not mentioned Flynn's relationship to him.

"My ladies," Legolas went on, gesturing to the Elf beside him, "Meet Silinde of Ithilien, formerly of Mirkwood, commander of my northern border guard."

The Elf called Silinde, a tall, blonde soldier with a square-ish face and deep-set eyes, bowed his head respectfully. Flynn bowed back according to elven custom, and smiled, and briefly wondered if she should just let them think for a while that she was an Elf, if they were fooled at all. She decided that not saying anything was probably the best option, so they could at least not pass judgement on her accent and know she was an out-and-out foreigner.

Legolas turned to Silinde and said, "Now that you know it is only I invading the borders, and not a party of stray wild men, I trust we may pass through to Emyn Arnen?"

"Indeed, my lord," Silinde responded, "and if it pleases you, we could escort you as far as the cross-roads before we turn our sights back to the borders."

Legolas glanced around at the company. "You are not a sizeable group, so I would not ask you to split, and leave half here and take half with us. Is it safe for all to venture south with us and thus leave the borders open?"

"Ithilien fair is safer than ever it has been, my lord," said Silinde. "Your approach is the first note of concern that has passed our way since you left, and you will recall that it is long since we have had trouble otherwise."

"I do recall the haven our lands have become," Legolas agreed with a slow, reminiscing smile. "Then it is agreed; let us make for the crossroads."

At his words the elves turned southwards, formed a neat group, and began to move off with Silinde falling in at the company's front. Flynn marvelled at the command Legolas had, seeing with certainty that he was indeed an authority on all things Ithilien. Brennewyn rode up from behind Flynn and joined the company, soon abreast with Silinde, not shy about approaching the Ithilien border commander. Legolas moved to Rhaia then and stroked her cheek softly, and looked up at Flynn, who had yet to move, as the company filed past them. He said nothing, but when he mounted the horse, he did so behind Flynn, and she scooted forward and allowed him to spur the horse with his knees. He wrapped one arm around her and she felt his breath warm on her neck, silent, as they rode to the front of the walking company.

- - - - -

It was evening when they stopped. Flynn had drowsily watched Brennewyn and Silinde converse softly at the front of the ranks as the sun sank on their right, before she drifted off into a light slumber against Legolas's back. Here she felt markedly safer and more protected than she had for the weeks they had spent in the open. She heard, as if far away, Silinde apologising for the border patrol's mistake. They had been told, he said, by a scout along the river, that there were three unidentified travellers moving south from the Entwash crossing. The scout, Silinde said, was new to the task, and Gondorian – and thus mortal and did not have the long recollection of the elves – and had clearly never set eyes upon Legolas, because if the young man had, he surely would have recognised the Lord of Ithilien and refrained from alarming the guard.

Flynn roused as the party halted and settled into a wide, deep hollow surrounded on one side by huge rocks littered across the ground as if cloven by lightning and strewn across the countryside. The company were afforded a windbreak there, and they built fires and sat a while. Legolas entreated Silinde for any food he might have, and they discovered that the elves had stores of cured meats, way bread, and hard biscuits. He produced a supper for Flynn, and they sat with Brennewyn and Silinde as she ate somewhat self-consciously; Legolas and Silinde took some of the way bread but the elves as a whole did not seem too interested in eating. Flynn envied that they hardly needed to dine if it was not absolutely necessary; how convenient that would be.

"Ithilien will be much overjoyed now that you return," Silinde said as they settled into comfort on the grassy ground around their fire.

"How I have missed my home," Legolas said, "and am glad of heart to return." He grinned then, and added, "Though I trust that Lord Gimli has meanwhile kept the elves in good spirits."

Silinde smiled. "Indeed; he has taken to appointing himself something of an honorary ruler of Ithilien. I should think he would be reluctant to allow your return, in fact." There was mirth in his tone.

"Ah, the stiff necks of Dwarves – and how I have cursed them! Still, he can rule Ithilien until the end of his days if he so wishes, if it means my leaving would lead me to treasures such as I have found in these travels of late."

Flynn paused in her chewing.

"I sense you are not referring to any jewel or gold," Silinde responded with a slight hitch of his eyebrow.

"No indeed," Legolas agreed, and, reaching over to Flynn he squeezed her free hand; the other had stopped with a biscuit halfway to her mouth. "Flynn of Stralis this lady may be, but she is also a great jewel to my home; she is the Lady of Ithilien."

Flynn's breath caught in her throat, choking on her food. She coughed, loudly and swallowed hard, and cleared her throat, and stared at Legolas, wide-eyed. His face was serene. Since when was she the Lady of Ithilien?

Oh yes... that.

Silinde's eyes went to Flynn then, and he gave a noble nod and a smile that Flynn could not quite read. "Congratulations are in order," he said. "I am gladdened that the Lord of Ithilien has at last found his Lady."

"Thank you," said both Legolas and Flynn at the same time, and they looked at each other, and Flynn smiled uneasily. So, one Elf at least did not jump up and scream bloody treason at their union: there were only several hundred more to go.

- - - - -

The countryside was noticeably different by mid-morning. There were tall trees now – firs and pines and cypresses – and the land, once flat and gently undulating, now rose and fell more dramatically in high ridges and low peaks. Legolas halted suddenly while it grew hot, the sun burning in a cornflower blue sky. The elves looked around warily for danger. Legolas gestured Silinde over and spoke to him so quickly and quietly that she could pick out only some of their conversation but it made little sense – something about shelter and... secrets? Flynn stared at Legolas from where she sat on the horse with Brennewyn, wishing he would share what was going on. Were they in danger?

Flynn leaned around Brennewyn, trying to catch her attention. The Elf was listening with her sharp hearing to their conversation, and there was a playful, knowing grin at her lips. Flynn looked at her imploringly, but she shook her head teasingly. Flynn glanced back and saw Silinde nod once obediently, and bellow a string of commands hurriedly. The elves began to file past them again, but Legolas still did not move. In fact, he was saying farewells to Silinde. Brennewyn, too, called a goodbye to Flynn and winked and, laughing to herself, jumped from Isilyn and set off on foot with the soldiers.

"What on earth is happening?" Flynn asked in a shaking voice. "Are we under threat? Why have we been left with the horses?"

Legolas, grinning, said, "The guard and Brennewyn will be perfectly safe on foot, and will be far beyond the crossroads by sunset tomorrow, and Brennewyn will be escorted to my guest dwellings in Emyn Arnen, another day's travel from there. We will need the horses so we may come speedily to my home once we have... rejuvenated."

He may as well have been talking in tongues. "Rejuvenated? What, exactly, are we doing, staying back while they go on?"

"Oh, no, love," he said mysteriously, kicking Rhaia to move off, "We shall not stay here – there is somewhere just to the east of here which I must show you."

Flynn urged Isilyn to move off and she followed Legolas at a walk. "I thought the only thing to the east of here were the Ephel Dúath mountains, and then Mordor after that?"

"If you are talking of major features of the land, then yes, you are correct. But there is something near here which will not appear on any map." He grinned slyly.

Flynn racked her brain – what did she recall of the geography of this place? She did not dare go hunting in her bag for the Middle-earth map she had taken with her through the time-slip. Disregarding that it suspiciously depicted the entirety of Middle-earth with remarkable accuracy, it happened to be printed and laminated on modern, 90gsm stark white photocopying paper.

So Flynn visualised this region of the map, one which she admittedly did not know as well as she should. There was Minas Ithil somewhere to the south, Orodruin and the rest of Sauron's former strongholds to the east, marshy wasteland to the north, and Gondor to the west. What else? This was a place not on any map, Legolas had said, and Flynn was certain Silinde had been referring to something that was secret. Was it some classified location, some hideout that would protect them from... well, what?

Legolas had said they were not in any danger. Flynn looked around. They were entering the outskirts of what was not quite a forest but not an open plain, either. The trees were widely spaced and did not form a thick canopy, but the light was dimmer beneath the dark green leaves. Rhaia's hooves crunched on dried pine needles and flat, wide leaves, and Flynn was struck for a moment with the realisation that they were, in fact, in Ithilien, the land so beautiful even the evil in Mordor could not fully taint it.

Then it struck her. Of course! This was Ithilien, after all, where Frodo and Sam had been captured by Faramir and his men and taken to the secret pool! Henneth Annún, the Window of the Sunset, whatever you wanted to call it; it could be the only 'secret' near here that was worth the detour. Faramir would have taken control of everything around here after Ithilien became his dominion, she reasoned, and with it Legolas would have been trusted with the knowledge of the secret hideout of Gondorian soldiers. Flynn grinned excitedly to herself, hoping desperately that she was right.

- - - - -

Their route was treacherous for horses. They headed steeply downhill on a narrow path carved out beside a sheer rock wall rising on their left, and to their right a blue stream bubbled musically through a small gorge. Legolas had been singing gaily in Elvish, and after an hour of listening and failing to understand, Flynn had piped up with songs she knew, the excitement brimming in her voice drawing a look of amused interest upon Legolas's face. But now they were silent, on foot, concentrating hard on leading the horses. Flynn watched Legolas, his nimble feet going lightly over the uneven ground, and his brown and green clothing blending in with the saplings growing up through the rock face and beside their path.

Flynn tried hard to memorise this route, knowing that she may well be the only female Human ever to have come to this place, unless it had opened up to visitation significantly since the war. There was little to remember, however; there were no other paths branching off from their own, and it ran directly along the running stream. Soon Flynn could hear the distant thunder of water falling, and her heart raced with anticipation; they were close! And then, almost suddenly, they the path seemed to dissipate and Legolas climbed down and left the horses, not needing to tether them.

He took Flynn's hand and led her to a fissure hidden in the crevices of the rock wall. It was pitch dark and cold inside but Legolas was a sure guide and in a moment, after climbing a narrow stair, they emerged into a poorly lit grotto within the hill.

Flynn whirled slowly, taking in her surroundings. It was just as her vague memory of this part of the story afforded: a rock cave, dark and many-chambered – she could see the shadows of other rooms opening out around the walls with only one entry and exit in the form of the stair they had just used.

Then the waterfall came into view. Along the west side, the cave opened out to a window the size of the entire wall, only it was no window of glass; rather it was a sheet of water, a glassy, streaming waterfall, cascading down past the grotto into the secret pool below and the stream that wound west down to the Anduin. She turned to Legolas, whose joyful smile glowed in the diffuse, mottled light cast through the water. "This is wonderful," she said.

"Do you not wish to ask me where we are?" he questioned playfully.

Flynn remembered her ruse; she did not know anything of this place, and so, "Where are we, Legolas?" she asked, taking both his hands and staring around in wonderment.

The Elf turned her hands in his and guided them upwards so they were palm-to-palm, and he twined his fingers through hers. "This is the Window of the Sunset. It is a place that used to belong to Gondor, but was held in such secret that only few Gondorians now know of it. I may be the only Elf in all Ithilien who knows its location – but now," he added, letting go her fingers and running his thumbs down the insides of her forearms, causing her to shiver, "you are also keeper to the secret." He took one of her hands, which remained raised, her nerves assailed by his touch, and he kissed the palm gently, repeatedly.

She closed her eyes, yielding, and distractedly asked, "What does it entail, being a keeper of this secret?"

Legolas grinned into her hand, running it down his cheek, inhaling, closing his eyes. "You must simply..." he paused for effect and his eyes snapped open, the facets in his irises sparkling: "Keep the secret."

"Ah," she said, playing to his mock sinister tone. "It might be too complicated for my young, mortal mind." Flynn bit her lip gently as he resumed kissing an electric trail down the soft skin of her inner arm. "I might forget what it is I am not allowed to say."

Legolas tilted her chin with his fingers and her concentration faltered as he bent to graze his lips across her throat. He laughed softly.

"You cannot spill secrets you have forgotten," he said. Kissing his way up to her ear, he went on, "Now, shall I show you what is to be seen in this place?"

Something in the timbre of his voice made her skin tingle, and she answered, "If you do, then I will know all its secrets." She grinned mischievously. "You could continue distracting me, and show me later, when my mind is full of you and will not remember a thing of the surroundings, and then the secrets will be safe."

Legolas caught her invitation well, and said, "Precisely my mind." He kissed her on the mouth, so softly that she wasn't sure if she felt it at all, until his breath came against her lips as he murmured, "I think that I will perish if I must wait another moment to love you."

"Then do not wait," she said.

- - - - -

Legolas stood as Flynn leaned, limp, against the wall. Waiting for her to catch her breath, he watched her and asked, "Would you like to see the rest of this place now?"

Flynn nodded. Legolas lit a candle and led her about the main chamber, seeming to know from memory where all the furniture lay. He used this candle to light others about the cavern, and as they glowed to life Flynn surveyed the surroundings. There were furnishings seemingly out of place in a cave beneath a waterfall – overlapping mats on the floor, various heights of seats and day-beds strewn with throw rugs that spilled over on to the floor so casually that they seemed carefully placed. There were kegs upturned as tables on which more candles sat, some in holders, some gummed to the wood by long over-spilled wax.

Legolas led her out and into each room adjoining the main: one that used to serve as a pantry; one a soldiers' mess room; one as a makeshift armoury; one, most interestingly, as a private bathing chamber. There they found a hefty clay tub presumably used as a soldiers' bath, though more than likely it was only the captain who was allowed to enjoy it. Flynn thought of Captain Faramir, and all the nights he would have spent here after long and harrowing days fending off Gondor's foes. He would be long dead now, like many others. The thought cast a dark shadow over her, though Legolas was lighting the room.

Nude, the Elf trotted into the room and knelt down quickly by the bath, inspecting it, and Flynn shook herself mentally, knowing that if he saw her face he would ask what the matter was, and she could not explain. He looked up at her, smiling, and, "A bath!" he said. "A fine way to ease the long hours and miles on horseback, fair passage though our elven steeds are."

Flynn smiled, bemused. "I thought elves did not bathe."

"There is great pleasure in a warm bath! We surely would not reject such a joyful activity simply because we do not always need it to keep clean. One needs a bath for the soul, if nothing else."

Flynn realised then how second-hand she felt – the only bath she had been afforded in a fortnight having been that quick unwilling dip in the river Anduin – and the prospect of a hot soak was suddenly tantalising. "Believe me," she said, "I need it for more than just my soul."

Legolas grinned and rose and, grabbing Flynn by the waist and twirling her unexpectedly on his way past, retreated to the main chamber. She composed herself, momentarily dizzy, and followed, to find he was already filling a bucket from the waterfall. Flynn found a jug and mirrored him, standing cautiously by the ledge where the water ran past. Hadn't Faramir said something about there being certain death if you fell over the edge here? She shivered and stepped back and again followed Legolas, who hummed to himself as he went to the bathing chamber and tipped the water into the bath.

They went back and forth, singing intermittently, and the filling of the bath took so many trips that Flynn felt she had more than earned a warm soak by the end of it; even moreso because each turn at filling the jug showered her with cold spray from the fall which, while refreshing, was not altogether welcome as the warmth of the sun faded. They lit a fire beneath the tub, the light flickering up the walls hung with tapestries and decorated by tiny ceramic tiles pressed into intaglios in the rock. Flynn watched as Legolas dipped a hand into the water to test it, and, judging it suitable, he climbed in. She stared at the nude Legolas, his lithe form sinking slowly into the expanse of the tub now, and he looked at her with interest as she leaned over its edge. "Will you join me?" the Elf asked.

Flynn laughed softly and rose, venturing one leg over into the tub. "Of course." She pulled the other leg in, sharp heat washing over her legs. Gingerly she sat, very slowly, and felt the intense and singular pleasure of water just shy of uncomfortably hot as it tingled through her. Closing her eyes, she leaned back against Legolas and murmured contentedly.

They sat in the tub a long while, at first simply soaking in the water and stroking every available stretch of skin, Flynn swamped by the Elf's long body and longer legs. After a time, when she grew sleepy, Legolas requested Flynn to regale him with folk tales from her own land. She searched her head for suitable tales, but could only think of fairytales and fables, and decided that one of these would have to do. It wasn't as though he would have heard it, anyway. "All right," she agreed, "I will tell you one story which has characters I think you will find of interest."

"I am nothing but ears," Legolas assured her, albeit drowsily, his head tilted in surrender back against the tub, his eyes closed.

Flynn laughed as she thought of the peculiarity of his pointed ears and how strange it was that she should be in love with someone so physically foreign.

"Well," she began, "This one is about a young woman, a ranger, a cruel witch queen, and – would you believe? – seven dwarves..."

Slanting orange sun pierced his eyelids and he opened them to find that he had been drifting into Elf-sleep, despite his best efforts not to. Immortal or not, he was tired, and the warmth of the water and her gentle voice, engaged in the telling of a strange tale, had a soporific effect.

"...and the hunter kissed her one last time, but in doing so he somehow dislodged the bite of poisoned apple caught in her throat, and she coughed it up, and she was alive again. And so I suppose they lived happily ever after, as they tend to do," Flynn was saying.

Legolas snapped to attention; he had not concentrated on the last part of her story. Flynn's telling was not exactly conducive to rigid alertness: she seemed to skip crucial parts of the story and come back to them later, confusing the time sequence. Had the heroine not been dead? He had thought mortal death was final. He said, "Do not be discouraged, my love, for you have a beautiful voice for stories." He gathered her hair into his hands from where it lay splayed across his chest and added, "but something, I think, is lost in the telling."

He heard her chuckle as he twisted her hair into a knot at the nape of her neck.

"Are you saying I am not a natural storyteller?" she asked, her tone light.

Legolas grinned to himself, choosing his words carefully. "You are a natural healer – now that is something to boast about."

Flynn laughed and swatted him playfully. He kissed the back of her head and, in doing so, noticed again the almost horizontal afternoon light streaming through the door. The sunset! He had been so anaesthetised by their lazy afternoon that he had almost forgotten to show Flynn the stellar feature of this place. It was not named Window of the Sunset for nothing. He stood smoothly, taking care not to disrupt Flynn, who twisted, watching him hop from the bath.

"What is it?" she asked, fine beads of sweat from the water's heat glistening on her face and shoulders.

"Come, you must see!" he answered, making no effort to disguise the excitement in his voice. He extended a hand for her to take, and she did, climbing indelicately from the bath, much to his amusement, and following him as he padded lightly to the main chamber, her heels slapping on the wet floor.

It was not the first time he had beheld the shimmering jewel colours of the sunlight playing through the waterfall, but it was no less magnificent now than when first he had seen it. He heard Flynn's light gasp and he watched her, wonderment on her face, her eyes wide and sparkling. All around the main chamber, light flickered across the walls, refracted through the water in all the colours of the rainbow.

Flynn whirled slowly and Legolas watched the coloured light play over her naked body, admiring its curves, its crevices, the soft, round artistry. To him she was bewitching, and far more beautiful than she seemed to grasp, with a grace not at all like that of the elves, but more humble and less presumptuous. Even Legolas grew tired of the haughtiness of his own people. He was unaware of the serene smile across his face as she took his hand again.

There was mischief in Flynn's eyes as she ran one hand down his back. She stood on tiptoes and kissed him, her free hand in his hair, pressing his face to hers, claiming his lips. Legolas felt a gradual shift in the intensity of her energy, and suspecting he knew what this portended, he broke the kiss. Flynn raised one eyebrow.

Legolas slid his arms around her and pulled her close, savouring the taste of her mouth and the warmth of her breath. Flynn pushed against him insistently, and he yielded, allowing her to direct him backwards, his feet finding and negotiating the edges of mats and furniture until he felt the edge of a day bed behind him and let her push him down, not needing to wonder what her intentions were.

- - - - -

Soft candlelight seeped in around them. Legolas gazed at the pink-flushed beauty breathing heavily beneath him and kissed her skin, tasting salty sweat and relishing the exquisite flavour of her. She smiled up at him, contentment all over her face, and as he settled in beside her, she stretched out lazily, all her muscles tensing in one long concerto down her body. Flynn rolled on to her side, facing him, and he let his eyes fall on her body. Her voice was thick with satisfaction when she said, "I think I need another bath."


	22. Confession

**22 – CONFESSION**

Flynn could not count the days they spent in Henneth Annún; indeed, she did not know if the days had run into weeks, or the weeks into months. She and Legolas seemed to spend all their time making love, indulging in each other's bodies, plundering the depths of one another, sharing sunsets and dawns and stories and songs streams of memories that would construct bigger pictures of each other, though Flynn had to exercise careful restraint at all times, and she could feel the frustration growing in Legolas.

When their bodies were not entwined, they were gathering food from the hills surrounding the grotto, or exercising the horses, or learning from one another; Legolas teaching Flynn to refine her shooting style with the bow, and Flynn explaining to Legolas the finer fascinations of the human anatomy, though it was difficult to describe processes at the cellular level, when no-one in Middle-earth had even a basic understanding of this.

So it was with reluctance that she mounted Isilyn and followed Legolas down through the valley, saying a silent goodbye to the Window of the Sunset, wondering if she would ever go to that magical place again. Legolas mounted Rhaia and rode up beside her, and reached over, squeezing her hand. "We make for Ithilien, my love," he said.

Flynn withdrew her lower lip and sucked in a breath anxiously. "Let us be going, then." She sighed out, glancing back along the burbling stream. "Thank you, Legolas," she added, "for showing me Henneth Annún. It really is special."

She cast a last lingering look at the grotto's entrance and did not see Legolas's face falter briefly; by the time she faced him again, he had turned to the front and urged Rhaia to move off.

Their swift riding was not conducive to talking, and so it was only when they began to slow late in the afternoon on the second day as they passed out of an open forest and on to a wide, brilliant green plain lush with summer grass that Flynn noticed the preoccupation in Legolas's brow. Even then, though, she did not question it, sure that he was as anxious to enter Ithilien with his mortal lover as she was to enter as the mortal lover of the elven lord and prince. Flynn could see across the plain to foothills that sprung up suddenly and gave way in the distance to high, snow-capped mountains.

Legolas slowed, and softly said, "The hills of Emyn Arnen."

"Emyn Arnen?" Flynn repeated, her voice squeaking with anxiety. "Then, we are almost –"

"We have arrived, yes," Legolas confirmed. "This plain begins the Field of Cormallen, and beyond, in the crook of those two hills, there," he explained, indicating with his hand the two largest of the foothills, whose slopes wore shadows that hinted at clusters of buildings nestled among the trees; "That is my home."

Flynn nodded and swallowed, attempting to fortify herself by straightening her posture and flicking her hair in a shivering heap over her shoulders. She could not help that she would enter Legolas's home colony smelling of horse sweat, but she could at least _look _dignified. Flynn did not wear her own clothes, having reasoned that morning that she would look too foreign and stand out too starkly from Legolas, though a part of her wanted to shout her heritage from the rooftops and show some home pride to this foreign race. The elven gowns she had taken with her from Lórien, whilst fine and fitting for the occasion of meeting Legolas's kin, made her feel far too much the wilting maiden, and thus she had donned a pair of her own pants and a tunic, the elven belt cinching her waist and betraying her curves. She kept the arrows at her back to show she meant business; while she was still not proficient, she felt tougher and more secure with their firm weight against her.

Flynn kicked Isilyn to go on, feigning courage, and they rode swiftly across the soft grass. The hills rose quickly. A young forest sprawling down from the hills gave way to two lines of tall poplars, splitting the forest in two and creating a long, wide entrance to the civilisation Flynn could see climbing up the slope. The sky was clear and sent shafts of yellow afternoon sun across the poplars so that there was a pleasant ambience about the grand entrance. Midges danced in the hazy light and the smell of grass was sweet in the air.

A small figure stood halfway down the tree-lined alley. Legolas halted and Flynn pulled up just a moment later. She glanced at Legolas, whose face broke into a wide, joyous grin, and in a moment he set off again, galloping hard this time, and Flynn tried her best to follow, until at last Legolas was slowing, reaching the figure, and jumping down from Rhaia, and embracing the Dwarf who could only be Gimli.

Legolas's voice was high and fair with excitement, and Flynn could hear the gruff tones of the Dwarf as she rode up and halted Isilyn awkwardly and jumped to the ground while the two old friends chattered. Hesitantly she approached them, and realised then that she could not understand a word they were saying. Hard sounds rolled off their tongue, sounds which could not be Elvish but which she was sure were not harsh enough to be Dwarvish. She froze for a moment, discomposed by the surprise. And then she realised: they were speaking Westron. Of course! Gimli and Legolas, a Dwarf and an Elf from separate backgrounds and different languages had to speak with one another the common tongue of Middle-earth: Westron. And Flynn did not know this language at all. Her heart sank as she realised that she would not be able to converse with anyone here who did not speak Sindarin.

But she was pleasantly surprised when Legolas turned to her and extended his arm, gathering her into their intimate reunion. "My friend," the Elf said in his own tongue, beaming, "it gives me great joy to introduce to you the Woman to whom I have given the part of my heart which is not already yours, dear Gimli." Flynn watched Gimli's heavy, hairy brow rise with interest, and was sure she saw a sparkle in his eye. "This is Flynn of Stralis," Legolas went on, "And the Lady of Ithilien."

Flynn was silent for a second. How was Gimli to understand if Legolas spoke Sindarin? Tentatively Flynn held out her hand to shake, and was altogether flushed when Gimli turned her palm over in his and kissed the back of her hand chastely, bowing as much as his short frame would allow, and in halting Sindarin said, "A pleasure, my lady."

For a moment Flynn could not speak, shocked at the fair Elvish words carried on the Dwarf's tongue.

Quickly she regained her composure and smiled. "The pleasure is all mine," she said, remembering her manners, or more accurately, remembering Jane Austin novels. Before she could stop herself, she found her mouth moving again as she said, "Forgive me for saying so, but it is strange that a Dwarf from afar speaks the Elvish tongue."

Gimli grinned and looked at Legolas, and said, "Aye, and even moreso when this Elf here still has not learned my own language! You have not kept up your end of the deal, have you Legolas?"

Legolas's lips thinned a moment, chagrined, but then he shrugged, and the Dwarf cackled.

"You have taught each other these languages?" Flynn asked, incredulous. She of all people knew too well that this was no easy feat.

"Truly it is me who has taught, and Gimli who has learned," Legolas said. "I am afraid I have failed horribly to learn the Dwarvish tongues, tried though Gimli did to instruct me when we travelled all those years ago." He sighed and smiled, and the Dwarf smiled back, and their long friendship was in abundant evidence.

"Well, Legolas had told me much about you, Gimli," Flynn said, "but he did not tell me that!"

Gimli smiled, and the voluminous grey-streaked russet beard and moustache crowding his face shifted as if mounted on grinding cog wheels, and his ruddy cheeks pushed his crinkled eyes into a well-worn wrinkle pattern. Flynn could not help smiling back, though it was Gimli she had most feared meeting, and Gimli who she most wished were not here in Ithilien, exactly where it was written that he should be now the king was dead. Because if he weren't here, then Tolkien's words could be untrue, and Flynn could spin her own fate and not spend every moment tightening with fear and the crushing inevitability of words written.

These two old comrades would sail for the Undying lands together. Without her.

Flynn's smile faded as Gimli looked back to the Elf and said, "I hope you have said only good things, my lad!"

Legolas laughed. "I have told only the truth, and nothing more."

"Aye," Gimli responded, glancing back at Flynn, "And his tale of the truth is far different than mine, no doubt! Did he tell you we once had a competition of how many enemies he could slay, eh? I suppose he told you he won?"

Flynn knew for a fact that Gimli _had_ won, and she did not need for the Dwarf to tell her in order to know that. But before she could answer, Legolas cut in, "I did not tell her anything of our competition, my friend. Flynn is a peaceable lady and given to healing rather than slaying. She is a great healer indeed!"

"Well, I am not really a –" Flynn began, but Gimli's face was already lit.

"A healer!" he exclaimed. "Well now, in building the township here they have yet to install Houses of Healing, and a head healer at that, though your Lórien friend, Brennewyn, is already working hard at doing that very thing."

Flynn did not have a chance to ask what exactly Brennewyn was up to, because Legolas quickly said, "Good – all is in order." He inhaled pensively and said, "Come, let us go forth to my home and discuss more of the changes to Ithilien as we ride. Gimli, shall we share a steed as we did of old?"

Gimli's face wore a mischievous smile of remembrance as he said, "Aye, my lad – and you can tell me all about what you have been up to, hiding out since the North Guard returned with lady Brennewyn and news of your having taken a wife, eh?" He winked at Flynn – who was busy choking on the word 'wife' – and grabbed Legolas's extended hand, climbing ungracefully on to the horse and grunting all the while.

"You know I am not given to sharing such discretions," the Elf said, but on his face was a smirk that spoke volumes.

In contrast to Gimli's awkwardness, Flynn's long weeks on horseback had finally given her some grace in the saddle and she mounted Isilyn easily and followed as Legolas took the lead. As they approached the foundling elven colony, seeing figures moving about between pavilions and along paths in the distance, she could hear the deep gruffness of Gimli's voice mingle with the bell tones of the happy Elf, and felt a coil of dread wind around her insides.

She did not want this. She had thought Ithilien would be the idyll that Tolkien described, and she had wanted to steal away from Cilien and Lórien wood and find peace here, but how could this place be perfect when all its paths drew Legolas away from her? Flynn felt selfishly that she did not want him to be so close to the sea, hearing its siren calls, beckoning him home to the West. She did not want Gimli here, fulfilling Tolkien's words, though she knew their friendship bond was unbreakable. She could not deny Legolas the company of his great friend, and the future that surely awaited them.

Flynn swallowed hard, seeing fate like an ocean before her, a tidal wave ready to crash down on the feeble house of cards she had managed to build in Middle-earth. Everything she held dear would be wiped away with the force of fate, its waters claiming all she held within her tenuous grip, and retreating, leaving her with the wreckage and ruins. They moved up the foothills, drawing into the trees, seeing elves from all around halt and come running gleefully to their returning leader, and Flynn could only steel herself as the waves came thundering in.

- - - - -

Flynn stared out over the mountains rising up behind Legolas's home. They were still capped in snow though the summer was full, the slowly dying afternoon sun sinking to Flynn's right. If she squinted hard enough, she could almost see the snaking Anduin, and beyond that the white city Minas Tirith, though she would need Elf eyesight to discern its shape in its crook in the white mountains.

Goosebumps sprang up on her arms as a breeze wound through the hills. There was stillness here, high in the hills above all the other dwellings. Legolas had wrought his home in a tree, just as she expected, but it was no simple talan. The house was spread over many levels and many trees as it climbed up the hillside. In lower and ground level chambers cut into the hills, a Dwarf would find ideal guest quarters, there were middle level platforms and rooms where any Human afraid of heights would still be comfortable, and there were open, airy talans high in the trees where a Wood-Elf would feel truly at home.

Legolas, always the Wood-Elf, built his private chambers at the pinnacle of his home, where the steep angle of the hill kissed the tops of trees growing from further down. As such his quarters began in dizzily high talans that, as one moved from within the forest closer to the hill, had rooms opening out on to a balcony overlooking a valley. From this balcony the mountains provided a stunning backdrop, and here Flynn stood, pleading with the mountains of Emyn Arnen to give her the courage to face this test. She had changed into her finest elven gown thinking it would help her play her role, but she did not feel like a Lady of Ithilien yet. The welcoming feast would be ready to ignite into action far below, and Legolas would be expected there with Flynn by his side. But try as she might to tell her feet to carry her, they would not go.

Flynn felt rather than saw him stop a few feet behind her. She did not turn, waiting for him to speak, wondering if he knew that she could already feel his presence there. The breeze lifted again and she shivered lightly, shifting the folds of her sleeves and pretending she was still not aware of him, though she imagined his gold-spun hair floating lightly in the wind, his form dressed in some divine elven raiment, a circlet upon his royal forehead. Who was she to stand here in his beautiful home? He was a leader to his people and a Prince of Mirkwood. The Ithilien elves had rushed to him and sung for him as he rode through his township, and guards saluted him, and somewhere up on the hillside a fair elven horn was blowing, heralding his return. So who was _she_? 'Flynn of Stralis', this person who did not exist, who was a fraud. How could she let Legolas present her to his people as a Lady of Ithilien when even he did not know who she really was? How could she stand among these people, these elves and men and likely a few dwarves, and pretend she was anything better than a common liar?

"There is no need to fear, my love," came his soft voice, and its gentleness made her wince. How could he know?

"What makes you think I am afraid?"

Flynn could almost hear his knowing smile. "It radiates from you, like the heat from the stone of my balcony at high noon. I cannot help but feel it."

"I am sorry, Legolas. Please do not let it bother you; I want you to have a wonderful night."

Flynn stared out at the mountains still, now blue with the dark of night. She felt him move and then he was beside her, one arm on the railing, his body twisted towards her, inviting her to him. She did not move. If she did, then she would be putty in his hands, and before she knew it she would be whisked down to the glade below, where there would be celebration and singing and all things for which her sinking heart felt unfit.

"You, too, shall have a wonderful night," he said, "for you will come with me and be merry among my people, will you not?" There was such hope in his voice that she almost said yes right away.

Flynn sighed, though she did not mean to; it was a conspicuous and heavy sigh. Legolas reached up and ran a hand meaningfully over her hair and slid his fingers under her mass of tresses, resting his palm on the vertebrae between her shoulders. She bit her bottom lip, knowing his touch would be her undoing. Locking her eyes shut tight, she felt the heat of burgeoning tears, and she could not speak.

Flynn felt him deflate a little in her silence. Legolas said, "If Ithilien does not please you, then I have failed, my love, and this place is not fit for Elf or Dwarf or Man. Or Woman."

Despite herself, Flynn laughed softly at his well-trained correction. "There is nothing wrong with Ithilien at all," she reassured him. "You have done a fine job, Legolas, to rival the great cities of elves, I am sure." She paused. "If anything, it is too beautiful here. I feel like a... a weed among roses, or something like that."

"Ah," Legolas said, "it is the certain discomfort of being among those you think are fairer than yourself." He sighed. "If there were any looking-glass in the whole world that would show you the radiant beauty you possess, I would cross dead marshes and jump through fire to fetch it for you, I assure you. But I fear there is no such thing, for your eyes will not see what others will."

Flynn smiled; she couldn't help it. Legolas was trying so hard that it was almost working. She almost felt brave enough to venture among the elves, or at least seek out the friendly face of Brennewyn, whom she had missed this time they had been apart. Thinking aloud, she said, "I _am_ scared, Legolas, of the same things we have talked about before. I cannot help that I feel this way among the elves. I just wish... I wish our time in Henneth Annún could have lasted forever."

Legolas stiffened. "Flynn," he said, in a tone that reminded her of that which he had taken when he thought she had attacked Cilien, "there is something I have meant to speak with you about."

If Flynn had been a little afraid before, it was increased tenfold now. What had she said wrong? She faced him, blanching. "What is it?"

Legolas set his jaw, and the intense purpose she saw in his eyes frightened her. He said, "'Henneth Annún', you called it – twice now – in the tongue of old, Flynn, yet I told you that place was called the Window of the Sunset. Few know its true name."

Flynn drew a breath to bring out her standard spiel about all the knowledge stored in the libraries of Stralis, but Legolas held up a hand to shush her, and said, "All the recorded histories in Arda do not speak its true name. That secret is held among those who have been there, and only those, and under oath they do not repeat it, as I did not. You must tell me how you know its true name."

Flynn opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. What was there to say? She could not pin her knowledge on someone having told her; she had too much conscience. Besides, who would she blame? He knew that she had been in Middle-earth only a few months, and of that she had been either with Ellos or with the Lórien elves, or with him.

But the only other option was to tell the truth, and that was, of all options, the one she feared most. Her back to the balcony's carved stone railing, she sank down to a deflated crouch. Legolas watched from above, sternness hardening his face, clear stars twinkling over his shoulders. Flynn put her head in her hands. "It is a story," she mumbled into her palms.

Legolas crouched beside her. "Your words are muffled," he said.

"It is a story," she repeated, more loudly. Flynn ran her hands through her hair. "It is all a story, a big, complicated, fictional story, and I am just someone who was obsessed, and it is all written, and I know everything, and… it is all just a story."

"I do not understand."

Flynn sighed. "I can try to explain," she said, "but please do not judge me for not having told you all that I will now tell you, for I did not know I would grow so close to you, or anyone, and I never did think that I would ever have to explain this." Pausing, she gathered courage. "And if you wish to be rid of me afterwards, then do what you will."

There was plain worry on the Elf's face now, and she knew she had scared him. That was to be expected. And there was worse to come. "Go on," he compelled her, though his voice wavered.

So Flynn told him. She explained the author J.R.R Tolkien: how he had written one main epic story and an extensive history and world on which to base it. She told him how she had read everything from the creation of Middle-earth to the recent war and all things in between. Flynn knew the vivid details of the stories from old elven ancestry, and the folk tales, and the songs. And when Legolas said that she could, with some prying and manipulation, have heard those long-remembered tales from elves she had met, she delved into the intricacies of the main volumes, _The Lord of the Rings, _and_ The Hobbit _and recounted conversations Legolas had had with Aragorn and with Gimli and with the Fellowship; conversations no-one but those present would recall in such detail. Flynn knew Gandalf's exact words as he fell into darkness in Moria, and exactly what was written on Balin's tomb, and that Legolas slew exactly thirty-nine of the enemy at the Battle of the Hornburg, by his own count, and that it was when he fought the Corsair fleet at Pelargir that he first felt the call of the sea.

After recounting the first time Bilbo Baggins had met Legolas's father, King Thranduil, in Legolas's home in Mirkwood, she moved on to the long story of Aragorn and Arwen, and the coronation of Aragorn as King of Gondor, and how Tolkien had written of Legolas bringing a colony of elves to Ithilien. Flynn told him of the poem she had found tucked into her copy of the book, and the voices, and how she had come from somewhere far away from here in time, a place she suspected was just a future version of Middle-earth. She gave him her home's true name and told him of her native language, English, which explained her strange accent. Hands sketching illustrations in the air, she told him of the advanced technology of her home and the vast cities and the luxuries like hot running water, but she explained the loneliness and solitude she felt in a place so anonymous, and why she had felt so compelled to read that poem again.

Flynn described how she had used the poem not knowing – but suspecting – its purpose, and suddenly found herself in northern Eryn Lasgalen, Legolas's beloved Mirkwood, a place where centuries ago Bilbo Baggins had encountered giant spiders, and a young elven prince called Legolas had been raised by his father, King Thranduil who had fought in the battle of Five Armies and was reputedly the son of Oropher, warrior in the War of the Last Alliance. And all through this, Legolas's face grew whiter, astonishment streaked with anger mangling his fair features. Flynn could see, as she continued, that his disbelief was turning to suspicion – suspicion that she might be telling the truth, impossible as it must have seemed.

When she had little left to say, and paused for a moment, the darkness wrapping thick around them, Legolas sank down next to her, but not close enough for their bodies to touch, and stared ahead, and there was despondency in his eyes. Flynn knew he would not want to believe, but in time, he would know that she was not lying. It would all fall into place; he would remember conversations had, the evasive look on her face, the way she twisted her words around the topic, avoiding it with effort, and then he would know that this, finally, was the truth.

After a long silence Flynn asked, "Do you want to know the worst thing?" her words edged with bitter humour.

With strain he answered, "If what you say is true, I scarcely think there could be more that is worse."

Undeterred, for it seemed she may as well tell everything, she said, "The worst thing is, I have arrived here before the time when Tolkien finished writing the history of this place. There is still more to the story to be played out. I have read a little of the future that awaits you. And... Legolas, I am not in your future."

Legolas looked at her wearily, as though that seemed a given now because he was about to cast this intruder from his home and never set eyes upon her again. But there was deep sadness in his brow, and in the half-light Flynn thought he was biting hard on his tongue, hidden within his mouth. He closed his eyes. She waited to hear her marching orders, but he only said, "I am afraid to ask what you think the future _is_ fated to hold for me... yet I feel compelled."

Flynn sighed, and decided he might as well know the very thing that played most on her mind, now that everything she had tried so hard to contain was spilling out and so, plainly, she answered, "I said I knew that the sea would call to you, and you would feel it keener than all the elves do, just as Galadriel warned."

Legolas flinched at the mention of Galadriel, and Flynn knew why. Besides the fact that even one so brave as Legolas found her frightening in her power, no-one alive except him should know the words the wise Elf Queen had spoken to him in his head all those years ago, and yet here was Flynn disrupting everything he thought he knew.

Flynn felt sorry for the poor Elf, but she continued. "In that moment when you hear the cry of the gulls, it is written that you know what your purpose is, and you decide that you must go. You build a ship from near here in Ithilien, and it is guessed by Tolkien that you sail with Gimli down the river and out to the sea, though he writes as though even he is unsure if that is exactly how it occurred." Flynn paused then, wary of venturing into the territory of her own fragile emotions, afraid it would seem too selfish given how Legolas must feel in comparison.

She said, "Please believe me that it does not make me happy to know any of this, let alone to have to tell you now. I wish that I had explained everything from the start, so that you could have made your judgement on me then, and maybe you would have thought me a madwoman or a sorcerer, and we would not have grown any closer. But I suppose the same thing that stopped me then is the same thing I feel now – you mean too much to me. Somehow, you always have. I had such feelings for you, before I knew I did, and I suppose I was afraid to lose your respect, even then... I know that is no excuse for keeping the truth from you, but there it is."

Legolas was silent for a very long while. Flynn had dealt him a hard blow, and she had nothing more to say. She wondered if the feast had begun without them; if the elves wondered where the lord and lady were, if they assumed the couple were busy enjoying the entitlements of their love. Oh, how Flynn wished they were.

"It is true," Legolas finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I have seen the sea and hearkened its lustful cries, and have since been little able to forget how it draws me. And in this year, when we have seen the passing of our great king... I have felt its call more keenly than ever. It reminds me louder now that if I sail to the West I need not feel such pain again. Too many times in this life have I watched friends fall, and it is a wonder I still befriend these mortals. Children though you are in age to me, you have such short lives."

Flynn smiled joylessly. "Well, if you cast me from Ithilien tonight for the secrets I have kept and for this strange story which you probably do not wholly believe, you will not have to bear the same grief again."

Legolas picked up a piece of gravel from the stone surface. He cast it absently across the balcony and said, "The grief would be the same." He sighed. "I do not want to believe that the woman who owns my heart has spun lies, and nor do I want to think that you have withheld truths, if these are true. Yet all this you have said, is eerie to me in its accuracy, and you know things that nobody should know. You know things I thought I only heard inside my own head."

Joyful music lifted through the air. The residents of Ithilien were singing. They were gay and relieved; Legolas of Ithilien had returned, with a lady no less, and in a year where the King of Gondor had passed away, such news was pure goodness. Flynn felt like weeping. How could there be such joy and such pain in a night so young? So many issues still unresolved?

"Where do we go from here, Legolas?" Flynn asked softly. "I have said everything now, and it is all true whether you would believe me or not. There is nothing now that I know about you and about this land that you do not know. I you wish me to leave, just give me leave, and I will gather my things and go. I only want to leave discreetly, so I ask that you show me the way."

Flynn caught a tiny smile quirking at the Elf's lips then. "I believe I already have," he said.

For a moment she did not understand, and then she remembered his words to her the first time they made love. _'Let me show you our way, love; the way of the elves,'_ he had said. And she had asked him to do just that. She smiled. "Then have the patience to grant me your kindness one more time, and I will go."

"No," he said quietly. Then he stood, and she noticed for the first time the fine sky blue robe he wore, its long sleeves hanging noble from his arms and its hem brushing the floor, a wide cobalt belt at its centre folding to a long trail down to his feet. The robe was of a light, textured silk and fell away from him as though the it had not been merely sewn, but spun from the silkworms into his exact shape. She marvelled momentarily while he said, "Do not go. You must come with me. All of Ithilien awaits us." He extended a hand.

Cautiously she clasped his fingers and stood. "You still want me to join you at this feast tonight? As your Lady?"

"You must," he confirmed, exerting an authority she still found exciting. "I will not pretend to you that all is well between us, Flynn. But my people are happy tonight, and I wish not to dampen their spirits. It is the least we can do to make as though we are happy, too." He took her hand, squaring his shoulders and preparing to leave the balcony.

"We _were_ happy, for a little while," Flynn said softly.

"Yes," was all Legolas replied, and they moved for the door.


	23. Letter

**23 – LETTER**

Fair voices ringing out through the glade hushed as the Lord of Ithilien descended the grand formal stair. He slowly glided down the winding steps built around the tree as Flynn took his arm and tried not to trip on her diaphanous dress. She was certain the elves and their keen ears could hear the rampant thudding of her heart in her chest, certain they would mark her out for the unworthy fraud she was. But there was only clapping and cheering when they reached the forest floor, and Gimli announcing them, and music striking up from somewhere.

Legolas began moving about, introducing Flynn to elves and men of high standing in Ithilien. But she was not entirely present. She knew she would not remember their names, though she tried with some effort to appear focused and friendly but it was no use. She was not, she feared, making a good first impression.

The feast was informal, much like the impromptu feast held in her honour by the Lórien elves, and Flynn could be relieved at this at least, for she had feared there would be speech-giving and formalities and much attention showered on the couple. Apart from the curious looks she was given as she made her way through the crowd with Legolas, this was not so. Legolas did not intentionally place himself above these people, and he greeted them all as friends – indeed, Flynn suspected that given his long life, he probably knew each of them individually. But despite the unaffected face Legolas wore, smiling for his old friends as though he knew nothing but joy, Flynn could feel the vague pull of tension from him, and it reminded her – as if she could forget – that the ground they stood upon had never been more unstable.

It was a sad but relieved smile that Flynn gave to Brennewyn when she spied the Elf across the glade. Excusing herself from Legolas's side where he chatted to a sharp-featured, dark she-Elf whose name Flynn had already forgotten, she hastened through the throngs of elves to where Brennewyn stood on her own, cradling a goblet of wine and grinning broadly.

"Brennewyn!" Flynn exclaimed, assailing the Elf with an embrace that, had Brennewyn not been so composed, would have sent red wine flying everywhere. Brennewyn laughed her gay, throaty laugh as Flynn stepped back. The Elf regarded the Woman for a moment and her features became quite still.

"I would say that it is wonderful to see you Flynn, if I were not seeing what I fear is pain behind those eyes," Brennewyn said quietly, leaning in so only Flynn should hear.

Flynn swallowed and looked at Brennewyn, and equally softly said, "I am not myself tonight, you are right. But I cannot say anything here. There are too many eyes and ears on me."

Brennewyn's brow knotted. She nodded her understanding, took a sip of wine, and murmured, "You are right; there is much curiosity about you. Ithilien has been abuzz with questions ever since I arrived. Silinde met with Gimli to bring news of Legolas's return and his having taken a lady for himself, and as I am sure you can imagine Gimli was so overjoyed he was right away announcing it from every corner of the town."

"Really? I did not know people would be so happy about it. Especially because I am... you know."

Brennewyn cocked an eyebrow and, without looking away from Flynn, grabbed a goblet of wine from an Elf gliding by with a tray of drinks, handed it to Flynn, and said, "Do take a drink."

Flynn eyed her suspiciously, but took a sip of the wine anyway, feelings its heavy warmth in her mouth.

"I do not think that they knew you were mortal," Brennewyn continued.

Flynn choked on her drink, and she reddened, wiping her mouth. "What? But how could they not?" she sputtered, glancing around. As expected, there were eyes subtly trained on her: curious, studying eyes, pretending not to stare but staring nonetheless. They sized her up, and she could feel it. A chill ran down her spine.

"I do not think Gimli was properly listening when Silinde told him the full story, so keen was he to bring the good news into the town, and he announced it far and wide that Legolas had taken a wife," Brennewyn continued softly. "'He has finally got himself a pretty Elf lass!' I do believe were his words, though I do not think anybody ever mentioned you being an Elf, and I do not think he was giving the thing much thought when the words came out. Nonetheless, they were not expecting a Mortal."

Flynn took a long swig from her goblet. "Yes, that does seem to be the story of my life of late," she said.

Brennewyn grinned. "Would you like to go elsewhere?" she asked. "You are not the only one uncomfortable with all the attention falling upon you."

Flynn downed her drink and nodded. "Yes, please."

If Flynn had not been so suddenly famous they would have stolen away unnoticed, but as it was, many saw the lady and the Elf slip off into the forest. Flynn did not care, certain that she would not be staying in Ithilien long enough to hear any reprimand for her inappropriate absence. Brennewyn led her in a wide ring around the glade, carefully avoiding being spotted by the revellers, and Flynn followed as they ducked through the streets and paths of Ithilien. The architecture here was peculiar, a mixture of human and elven influence; delicate staircases leading up to high talans mingled with stone-cobbled paths leading into low cottages and houses.

Brennewyn lead Flynn higher up the slopes of Ithilien until at last they were in an area that was predominantly of Human design, judging by the practical, sturdy lines of the buildings. A long, stone hall flanked by vine-entwined pillars stood surrounded by houses overgrown by plants and vines. The area felt eerily unused and in a state of neglect. But casting her eyes over the summer flowers thriving in cracks and joins in the stone, Flynn thought of how Legolas would be happy to see such harmony between nature and construction. Her heart tightened.

Carefully Brennewyn picked a path up the lane least overrun by brambles and approached the pillared hall, climbing its lone stair and waiting for Flynn, who swatted away vine tendrils sticking to her gown as she followed. Brennewyn produced a long, rusty key and inserted it with force into a lock in the building's only door. After much rattling and finally banging the door with her hip, Brennewyn shoved it open and welcomed Flynn inside.

"Behold," she said with mock gravitas as the door gave a mighty creaking groan, "Ithilien's Houses of Healing!"

Flynn smirked and cocked an eyebrow suspiciously at her, and stepped inside. She looked around. The place was sparsely furnished and had the feel of slumber recently disturbed, as though it had been in disuse for a long while. There were a few beds and seats placed around the walls, their newness at odds with the old and dormant feel of the room There were large cabinets against the walls, which were beginning to be stocked with vials and archaic-looking pieces of equipment of the kind Flynn recognised from her work with Cilien. She momentarily wondered where Brennewyn had acquired all this, and turned to the Elf, who had followed her into the room and was lighting torches on the walls.

"You must wonder where much of this has come from," Brennewyn said, answering Flynn's unvoiced question.

"I am almost afraid to ask – some of it looks all too familiar," Flynn admitted.

Brennewyn laughed and mischief came over her face. "Cilien will not miss what I took; she has far too many possessions to begin with."

Flynn gasped and clapped a hand to her mouth. "You did not!"

Brennewyn grinned and nodded. "Did you not wonder why an Elf needed carry so much with her when we left?"

"Well, yes, but I thought it was just food and such," Flynn answered, and looked around at the shining glass vials, some of which already contained potions and remedies. "How much of this was hers?"

"Not all of it. Just a few things, really," she said, running her fingers lightly over a tray of scalpels and tweezers and pliers. "Most of what you see here was kindly donated by the Lord of Ithilien – according to Gimli – and so you see much of what is here is, in fact, already yours. In any case, my efforts were for a good cause. Flynn, do you not see what we have here?"

Flynn was busy swallowing the idea that as well as having fought a fistfight with Cilien, she was accomplice to outright theft from the Lórien healer as well. "I am not sure I do see," she admitted, shrugging.

Brennewyn threw her arms wide exasperatedly, gesturing to the room around them. "This is the Houses of Healing!" she explained. "We have our very own place in which to practice our work, and you, Flynn, will be Ithilien's own head healer; its own, much better version of that harridan we no longer suffer the company of! I realise we do not have much to show for it yet, and there is more work to be done to make this place fit for us, but just think of the good work we could do here. Think of the respect you can earn from these haughty elves with their strange prejudices. Who can mistrust and doubt the merits of a healer?"

"Our own Houses of Healing?" Flynn repeated softly, sitting slowly down on a bed. On any other day this would have seemed a fine prospect indeed, and she would have been caught up in the enthusiasm in the Elf's voice, and seen the opportunity presented in this place. But tonight Flynn could not see a future. She could see only Legolas's disappointed face and the uncertainty of tomorrow when she would, she was sure, have to prepare to leave Ithilien, and wander Middle-earth, once again alone – this time with a bad reputation. "I do not... I do not know, Brennewyn," she said, deflated.

Brennewyn went still. "What do you mean?"

Flynn had been staring into the mid-distance, and she looked up at the Elf and her clear blue eyes and radiant face, dreading what she would have to say. As much as Flynn felt that Brennewyn was a great friend and confidant, she knew she could not tell her all that she had told Legolas; it was bad enough losing the respect of a loved one, let alone two in one night. "I do not know if I can do this, Brennewyn," she explained softly. "I do not think I can stay here, and be a healer, and make a life for myself in Ithilien."

Brennewyn moved closer and crouched down in front of Flynn, searching the Woman's face. "Are you so absorbed by the vagaries of fate and fear of the unknowable future that you would dash this great opportunity, Flynn?" Brennewyn asked. "Is it so hard to see the light of dawn from here? I know that you have been troubled by many things of late, and I understand that well, but do you not see that this is your chance to begin again? Do you not see that?"

There was nothing Flynn could say that would even begin to explain to Brennewyn why she felt the way she did. She looked over Brennewyn's shoulder to the window and the starlight outside. She said, "We do not know that this is any more than a dream Brennewyn, that anyone will take us seriously as healers or that anyone will respect us; me the foreign and – worse! – _mortal_ usurper of their prince and lord, and you an outsider from Lórien. They know nothing about us."

Brennewyn stood quickly and turned away from Flynn, expelling a frustrated breath through her nose. "Unlike yourself, I choose not to let my origins or race be anything of an issue," she said quietly.

Flynn sighed deflatedly. "I am sorry," she said weakly, unsure what else she could say. "I do not think I can do this, Brennewyn, this healing thing. I just... Perhaps I haven't the strength right now; I do not know."

Brennewyn, still not looking at Flynn, began to line up the vials on a shelf by the door, and was silent for a long moment. Finally she said, "I do not know what troubles you so, but if you will not tell me, I think perhaps you should go."

Her words squashed Flynn's heart into a crumpled little ball. For a moment she sat, her mouth open, half-compelled to explain everything to Brennewyn so the Elf would know that Flynn's hesitancy had nothing at all to do with her faith in their abilities. But she couldn't say anything; she could not even muster an apology, and she rose slowly and moved for the door, halting momentarily by Brennewyn, who deliberately ignored her, and without another word, Flynn left.

She wandered the paths of Ithilien, deliberately avoiding the glade where the rest of the residents revelled and sang and danced and probably wondered why Legolas's lady had disappeared so quickly, and probably gossiped among themselves and confirmed that she was untrustworthy and flighty and not fit for the Mirkwood Prince. Her feet led her back to Legolas's house, where a guard at the entrance nodded once at her, and stood aside to allow her passage, and she nodded back, taking effort to flash him a smile, hoping it appeared warmer than it felt.

Sure that Legolas would not yet have retired from his homecoming celebrations, she ascended the grand stair and padded quietly through the network of rooms and levels until she was back at the master bedchamber that opened out on to the balcony. She listlessly ran her fingers over the luxurious furnishings in the room, wood and gold both cold under her fingers, seeming to ward her away, until finally she flopped into a comfortable single chair and pulled a throw rug over herself, and fell asleep with a melancholy frown upon her face.

Flynn awoke later, disorientated, and panicked for a moment before realising that she was somehow, inexplicably, not in the chair in which she had fallen asleep. She lay stretched out on Legolas's giant bed on the other side of the room. She struggled fitfully with the blankets in an effort to sit up, then stopped dead. Legolas was standing nearby. His back was to her, leaning against a pillar that demarcated the inside part of the room and the balcony outside, though in Legolas's home it was difficult to distinguish the difference between interior and exterior.

Flynn could see dark night and the stars and concluded she had been asleep only a little while. She knew she needed not say anything for him to know she was awake, but she felt compelled to speak anyway. "Legolas," she began softly, "I am sorry I left you this evening."

A long moment stretched out. Crickets chirped on the balcony. From far away singing voices and music continued to lift through the forest. Legolas said, "I wondered where you had gone with Brennewyn. I assume she showed you the planned Houses of Healing."

"Yes," Flynn answered, wishing not to think of the outcome of that venture. "I did not mean to leave you there, Legolas, but I could not handle it. All those eyes on us, and their whispers, and how I already felt – all of it was too much."

Legolas nodded once in acknowledgement. "I am certain I need not tell you it will raise more suspicion, your leaving so hastily, than if you had simply stayed."

"I know," she said quickly. "But I am not really thinking of a future here, right now. I feel like I am awaiting my marching orders, I just –"

"Oh, would you please cease this talk of leaving Ithilien – most of at all my behest!" he interrupted, now turning to face her. "I do not intend to ask you to leave me, Flynn – such a thing would be akin to asking my own heart to leap from my chest and never return. I would not have you leave me simply because I am displeased, confused. But I cannot say more of my feelings at this moment, for I have had but a few hours of this knowledge, and that is not enough time for me to know if even I believe this strange story let alone discover how I feel. I do not want either of us to do anything rash."

Flynn nodded slowly, watching him pace restlessly to the other end of the room and turn his attention back to the night sky. Even through her anxiety and her thoughts straying once and again to Brennewyn's words earlier, she still looked upon Legolas with awe, beholding the beauty of his form.

With pressure building in her head and heart, thinking on the very idea that her broken trust with Legolas might be irreparable, she found tears stinging at her eyes, and swallowed hard to force them back. Even after the time they had spent together, she did not want to cry like the child she felt she was before him. Legolas was so composed, so charged with emotions yet master of them, so far ahead from the point where she stood, where her heart hung hopefully from her sleeve. Flynn sobbed unwittingly once and, horrified at its sound, slunk down into the covers on the bed, wishing she could disappear, wishing she could leave him alone, knowing she could not, knowing they had come too far.

Legolas shifted from one leg to the other, and rested his hand on the pillar, and his chin lifted to the stars, and she heard his voice as he said, "Please find some sleep, Flynn," and he glided out on to the balcony, adding, "I will be here."

Flynn watched him awhile, his contemplative form unmoving, until anxious exhaustion overtook her, and she gave in to sleep.

- - - - -

The morning was sultry; warm and blustery, speaking of the promise of autumn. There was food in Legolas's room, but no Legolas. Flynn ate and brushed her hair and stared at her empty eyes in the mirror, feeling desolate and full of haze, her movements automatic. Finding his bathing chamber, she took time to clean and change into a fresh gown, resolving to make a better effort with Ithilien today. She would greet people with a friendly smile, and pretend everything was fine and maybe somehow convince herself that it almost was. Flynn scraped her hair back into a barrette but a great deal fell out the sides, and she gave up; in any case it almost looked intentional, tendrils of copper and gold brushing her neck and tumbling down her back.

She squared off against herself in the mirror. "You are a Lady of Ithilien," she told her reflection, and its sincerity was almost believable.

Halting at the house's entry stair Flynn greeted last night's guard, wondering just how long a standing shift was acceptable to someone who would live several millennia, if not forever. She inquired as to Legolas's whereabouts but the guard was unsure, saying all he knew was that Legolas had left around dawn and taken counsel with Gimli, and that he suspected that they rambled in the woods. Flynn decided not to seek him out, and instead headed east, her thoughts on the Houses of Healing, expecting to find Brennewyn there but not knowing what she would say if she did. She passed elves on her way and was unsure if their friendly nods of greeting were standard or if she was afforded some kind of special courtesy due to her position. Flynn smiled and nodded back to them and with effort met their eyes, saying, in her head, '_Yes, it is me, and I will not hide_.'

It seemed her feet remembered the path better than her mind, because shortly she was winding through the crop of houses just below the stately building Brennewyn had claimed as theirs. Flynn stood downhill from the entrance and stared up at it, the bright glare of low clouds in her eyes. For a moment she faltered and considered going away. Then her feet took charge and she ascended the stair and stood at the door. It was closed, but she chanced her luck and gave it a gentle push and was surprised to find it gave beneath her hand.

Biting the inside of her lip, Flynn stepped gingerly within. At first it seemed no one was inside, the windows still shrouded in heavy drapes that gave no hint of the daylight outside. Then, in the darkest corner, the western corner, she saw the pale shape of Brennewyn, whose form looked somehow deflated, her shoulders hunched around the mortar and pestle in her hands, slowly grinding some potion. And then Flynn heard the strangest sound ever to reach her ears from the mouth of an Elf: Brennewyn was crying.

Abandoning her fear, Flynn crossed the floor quickly and crouched before Brennewyn, unsure what she would say, but sure that she wanted only to comfort her friend. The Elf's grip on the mortar and pestle loosened and Flynn removed it gingerly from Brennewyn's hands, which fell on to her lap purposelessly, and then Flynn was on her knees, drawing Brennewyn into an embrace, feeling the Elf's soft sobs against her shoulder and arms around her.

"It cannot happen like this," Brennewyn cried into the fabric of Flynn's dress, "we cannot lose hope."

"I know," Flynn soothed, "I am so sorry, Brennewyn. I did not mean the things I said. It is not hopeless here."

"It is not only that, Flynn," Brennewyn said, pulling away slowly. "We must not lose hope for all things." She wiped her eyes with a handkerchief drawn from nowhere. "All that we have and all that we can be – these things are too important to lose hope."

Flynn nodded slowly, searching Brennewyn's face, hearing centuries of sorrow and regret in the Elf's heavy voice. "I have not lost hope," she said softly, "and I did not mean the things I said last night – about this place. I know it could be great. I was speaking from a strange place, I was not myself. I know that is no excuse."

Brennewyn looked at Flynn, her desperate eyes softening. "You must understand, Flynn," she said passionately, "that meeting you has given me new sight for the possibilities of this life we have. I feel as though great things can still happen, and that I can reach the ends I seek. Forgive me for saying this, but you are in some ways to me like a child. I do not mean that you are naïve and unwise, for you are far from that. I mean that you remind me how much must be done with the time we have. Flynn, I must do this, I must keep a purpose to fill my time, for I must keep the strength alive in me so I may build that ship of which I have spoken. We cannot abandon hope."

Flynn nodded again, knowing her face could barely conceal how overwhelmed she felt now, and how she felt every time Brennewyn spoke of her longing to take a ship into the West. The Elf's passion was contagious, and Flynn took her hands, saying, "We will not lose hope, Brennewyn. We will make this a place to remember, and I will do what I can to help you build that ship. I do not know what is in my power, but whatever it is, I promise, I will do it."

Brennewyn smiled, nodding, wiping the last of the tears from her face. "Well," she announced, the normal vigour returning to her voice, "Then we should begin here, should we not?"

Flynn agreed, and they stood and drew the curtains, letting the day into the building and throwing the room into a light that gave it somehow more validity, the white linens crisper and the glass vials shinier.

"Now you must tell me what it is that made you so out of sorts last night," Brennewyn said as they moved about, straightening the room.

Flynn halted momentarily in her tracks, turning words over in her head, and finally said, "Legolas and I had a disagreement, but it is not worth mentioning now... Sometimes I think too much of the future, that is all."

Brennewyn fixed her with a doubtful stare and a raised brow, but said no more. Soon she showed Flynn in great detail the instruments and potions she had procured for the Houses of Healing, and they passed the morning as they used to, discussing the art of healing, and Flynn felt, for the first time since reaching Ithilien, just a little bit at home.

It was something of a surprise when Gimli arrived, mid-afternoon, striding into the room with his hands upon his stocky hips and peering around the room with the hint of what Flynn imagined was a smile of approval. Brennewyn, noticing his arrival, swooped upon him and greeted him with a chaste kiss upon his cheek, to which he blushed russet to match his beard. "Oh I do have such a soft spot for a pretty Lórien lady," he grinned, and Flynn snorted faintly, suppressing a laugh, knowing precisely to which beautiful Queen of Lórien he referred.

"My lady," he said to Flynn, bowing as he noticed her in a far corner.

"A pleasure," she greeted, approaching him and bowing her head in turn, and adding, "Please call me Flynn."

Gimli winked and turned his attention back to Brennewyn and said, "I see you have shown Flynn the place," and turning again to Flynn he said, "It is grand, is it not? What a splendid idea, a House of Healing in Ithilien!"

"Indeed," Flynn said, smiling and sharing a look with Brennewyn, feeling that she really meant it. "Have you seen it before, Gimli? You spoke of it yesterday; I thought you might have helped out in setting us up here."

Gimli's chest puffed out proudly as he hooked his thumbs into his belt and took a few steps into the room, and answered, "Oh yes, lady Flynn, I did help – I have been here quite a lot these past few weeks as we awaited your coming. I could not refuse a request for assistance by one so fair as Brennewyn."

"Oh, you do flatter me needlessly!" Brennewyn laughed girlishly. "You are already in my favour, Gimli; there is no need for such pretty words."

"I apologise, my lady," Gimli grinned, with playfulness in his voice, "But I cannot help myself; my tongue has a mind of its own in your presence."

Brennewyn laughed again, and Flynn was sure she caught a hint of coquettishness there. Did these two flirt? Surely not! Flynn shook herself mentally and said, "Well, we shall do great work here, I think."

"Of course we will!" Brennewyn agreed. "We have in our hands the very best healer I have known in all my long life!"

Gimli's brow rose with high interest and he regarded Flynn and said, "This is not the first time Brennewyn has said such a thing of you – you must be something impressive, Flynn."

Flynn flustered and stammered a little, saying, "I do not think the title is deserved at all, I just – I have studied with Cilien of Lórien only a few months!"

"That matters a trifle," argued Brennewyn, speaking chiefly to Gimli. "She came to us as an apprentice when already she knew more than we did. Anyway, the work we do here will be the real telling of our talents, will it not?"

"Which I am sure are immense, my lady," Gimli grinned, and Flynn barely suppressed a laugh at the strange flirtation between these two as Gimli said, "Well, you must show me what it is that you will _do_ here, then! All these potions and tools and things – I must say I am intrigued to know how you use all these things."

Flynn, glad to steer the conversation somewhere safe, said, "Why, of course, Gimli. I can tell you a little, if you will be patient with me, for I am no great teacher, that is for sure, and I have been told just recently by Legolas of all people that my narrative powers induce sleep."

Gimli laughed heartily at this, but Brennewyn piped up, "Speaking of Legolas, where is he today, Gimli? I thought he might look in, now that Flynn has been here."

Gimli cleared his throat somewhat uncomfortably and answered, "He seeks time alone in his home forests," and with an apologetic tone said to Flynn, "You know how elves are, eh! He did seem a little out of sorts this morning, I must say."

The Dwarf seemed to think to himself for a moment, then said, "No matter – I am sure you know more about it than anyone, Flynn, and it is of course none of our business." At the last, his eye went to Brennewyn as if to force her agreement on this matter, and, "Oh!" he added, "he had a message for you, Flynn. He said that you need not wait to dine with him this evening, for he has business with his Western Guard and may not return until quite late."

Flynn nodded. "Thank you," she said graciously, but inside a thread of doubt pulled at her heart, suspicion growing that her Elf was deliberately distancing himself from her. There was a moment's pause in the room, and before it grew uncomfortable Flynn said, "Well now! Let us show you what we can, dear Gimli."

The afternoon passed with Brennewyn and Flynn teaching Gimli some of the rudimentary elements of healing practice, though he was a poor student. Flynn humoured him anyway, and observed with subtlety the strange friendship that seemed to have blossomed between the beautiful Lórien Elf and the sprightly, though ageing Dwarf. Flynn had her own theory about this, and it sprang directly from his earlier comment about his penchant for pretty Lórien ladies. He likened Brennewyn, Flynn thought, to Galadriel, with whom he had famously fallen instantly in love during the time of _The Fellowship of the Ring_. Gimli had never really gotten over his enchantment with that beautiful Queen of Lórien, and Flynn thought she detected some replacement here. In a strange way, it was almost warming to the heart.

- - - - -

For more than a week Flynn did not see Legolas at all. Her days were spent in the Houses of Healing mixing remedies with Brennewyn and jarring them for storage, and placing new furniture brought by Gimli from some secret stash belonging to Legolas, which the Dwarf assured them the Elf would not miss. Gimli spent nearly as much time with Flynn and Brennewyn as he did elsewhere, and Flynn knew that it was becoming patently obvious that she and Legolas were spending no time together. She wondered if they knew that she had not, in fact, seen Legolas since the night of their arrival. Even Gimli reported only rarely of seeing the Elf and those times he brought messages for Flynn, always apologising for his occupation elsewhere and bidding her enjoy the labours of his kitchen hands. Eventually she gave up spending her nights alone at their home, and she dined with Brennewyn.

Flynn did not, to her surprise, grow lonely. The company of Gimli and Brennewyn was fulfilling and she was amused no end by the interaction between the two and their strange banter. The Dwarf was not a child in age to Brennewyn, but by no means was he her equal in wisdom and foresight, and their relationship was a strange mix of humour and counsel. Flynn wholly approved of this, anyway, seeing a hopeful light in Brennewyn's eyes that she had never seen, and a youthful vigour in Gimli unusual for a Dwarf more than a quarter of a millennium old. She wondered where this odd friendship would go and if it meant good things for Brennewyn. If Gimli did indeed sail for the West as Tolkien said, then this surely boded well for her. Flynn could see this friendship bringing Brennewyn one step closer to the thing her heart longed for more than anything else.

On an unseasonably warm morning, near to noon, Flynn sat running a thread through a cushion-cover which had torn at the corner. Brennewyn and Gimli had ventured out collecting herbs for the brewing of more potions and left Flynn in the Houses of Healing. She had strategically placed her chair in a shaft of sunlight, and moved it every quarter hour as the light shifted and grew warmer and warmer. For this reason she could not discern between the heat given to her body by the sun and that which she normally felt as her heart's twin was near, and she did not feel Legolas's approach until he coughed lightly from the doorway.

Flynn's head shot up. "Legolas," she said softly, and he nodded once in greeting. He was dressed in the usual garb of a Wood-Elf; grey breeches, muted green tunic and jerkin, hair half bound and braided. He stepped slowly into the room, looking about with curiosity. "It is a fine House of Healing you have made here," he said.

Flynn followed his eyes as they ran over the shapes of the room. "Thank you," she said. She looked at him, waiting for him to speak. He had sought her out, after all.

"I cannot stay long, Flynn, but I needed to see you quite urgently."

She frowned. "What is it?"

"I request your presence tonight, at our home for supper. We must speak."

"I know."

"No, it is not about what you think of. There is something else."

Worry crept over Flynn's features. "What is it?"

Legolas hesitated, seeming to debate with himself whether to say more at this point. He finally crossed the room and crouched before her and took a deep, steeling breath. "I have received a letter from Cilien," he said.

Flynn could not restrain a little gasp. "What did it say?"

Legolas avoided her eyes for a moment, then answered, "She will not let go of her accusations. She seeks justice, even still, and threatens us with the Lórien elders and the Lórien guard. And that is not all – she accuses you of stealing from her, too."

Flynn pressed her hand to her mouth, holding back expletives and outbursts. She shook her head disbelievingly but could say nothing.

"Do not think more on it until we have had the chance to speak more," Legolas said, his face softening. He glanced back at the door. "I must go, Flynn. Will you meet me tonight?"

She nodded, her eyes wide, and the Elf rose and moved to leave and then halted, seeming to change his mind. He turned back to Flynn and bent, planting a soft, lingering kiss on her lips. Then he straightened hastily and went quickly from the room.


	24. Plan

**24 – PLAN**

Flynn had the kitchen hands bring her a fresh loaf of bread. She broke the tip off and pulled nervously at the soft contents, pressing white chunks into her mouth and letting them turn back to dough. She sat at a wrought-iron table for two on the bedroom's balcony, waiting for Legolas.

He arrived when it was dark and she had pulled on a cloak and eaten the whole baguette and drummed her fingers near raw on the tabletop. Legolas set a crystal carafe of wine and two glasses on the table, withdrew the empty chair silently and sat. He leaned forward so his hands rested on the table, so close to hers she could almost touch him. He stared in her eyes and she did not look away, challenging him to speak, tired of his silence.

In a moment he produced from his tunic a folded sheet of parchment, and softly he set it on the table between them and slid it towards Flynn, his eyes imploring her to take it. She did, folding it out and casting her eyes over the sharp scrawl of someone who wrote to brook no resistance. She read it.

_Dear Legolas, _the writing said. _With a heavy heart I spoke with you some nights passed, for I did not ever think you could be as foolish as you are now. _Flynn's stomach tightened as she thought of the unique almost telepathic connection some elves had which carried their conversations over long distances. Taking a deep breath she read on: _It seems your senses have truly been stolen from you by this strange Mortal_, _and I have little choice in the matter. I am sorry Legolas, my loyalty is no longer with you. _Flynn's heart burned just a little, hating to think of the healer's feeling for Legolas; that there had ever been loyalty there. _I have been thoroughly wronged by the child you insist on cavorting with: not only have I been physically attacked, but I have had one of my own apprentices and many of my possessions stolen from me. I see that you do not believe these things, and I say now that you are naught but a fool to believe that Mortal._

_It pains me that you have decided then to take such a foolhardy path and deny me the justice I deserve. I write to tell you that unless you can deliver her to me by summer's end, I fully intend to enlist the assistance of the Lórien forces and find you in Ithilien, from where I will retrieve the Mortal and have her dealt with for her wrongs in Lórien. _

_Yours, Cilien._

When Flynn finished, her heart beating wildly in her chest and cold fury spreading inside her, she looked up at Legolas. His face was calm.

"I have thought long on what you have told me," he said evenly, filling both glasses with a deep carmine wine. Flynn said nothing, and he went on. "I believe what you have said, Flynn, though I do not know why. This… this Tolkane fellow you speak of –"

"Tolkien," she corrected, her thoughts meanwhile wild with hatred for Cilien.

"Tolkien. I do not know who he is, but surely he is of the Valar or the Maiar. He cannot be a Mortal from your lands."

Flynn sighed impatiently, wondering where he was going with this, and shrugged. "You may be right. Given that I was able to travel through time to be here, I am not above believing that Tolkien could have been a Wizard or higher. It would certainly explain his detailed knowledge of all things that have happened since the beginning of Middle-earth."

"Indeed," agreed Legolas. "For that is the very thing. No matter which way I talked myself around it, I could not explain your knowledge. There is simply no way you could know all these things you know about my land and its peoples without having some kind of outside help more powerful than I understand."

Flynn nodded, relief slowly daring to seep through her. If he believed her, then at least she was not a liar in his eyes, and something in his tone already told her that he had come to a conclusion that she would, if nothing else, find interesting.

"But I still do not believe in this fate you have set out for me, Flynn."

Flynn sighed. "You do not have to, Legolas, but I can tell you it is written, and everything else that was written has happened, so..."

"But that is just it! You told me that it is _guessed_ by Tolkien that I sail with Gimli into the West. You said it seems even Tolkien is unsure if that is exactly how it occurred. Flynn, I do not think that piece of the story is written. I do not think it is fated to happen as you think it does."

Flynn's brow furrowed. She had never thought of it that way, but now that Legolas cast light upon it, she remembered clearly how Tolkien was so hazy on some points of the story as to suggest that even _he_ did not know how they turned out, as if he had only been interpreting histories written by someone else. "Well then," she began uncertainly, "what do you think happens, Legolas?"

"I do not know for sure, but I am convinced that we are not fated to be apart, you and I." At this, his fingers breached the small gap between them and he took her hands in his, and she felt a wave of warmth wash over her. She was for a moment utterly incapacitated, lost in the dark depths of his eyes.

His expression intense, he went on, "You say that I am said to have sailed not long after Aragorn's death, giving in to the call of the sea – and it is right that I have felt its pull for long years now. With truth I tell you that before I met you, when I was spreading the news of the passing of the King and felt truly desolate, I made up my mind to return here this very year and build my ship and sail, for I could not linger on this earth any longer. And then I saw you that day you arrived at the outpost with Ellos and I forgot about my ship, and my desire to leave, and the barren land this seemed to me had suddenly become fruitful again. That cannot mean nothing; it cannot be in vain that we have loved."

Flynn's breath hitched in her throat, his words nudging her core. Her voice came out barely a whisper when she said, "What must we do?"

Legolas's eyes lit up a touch at this, as though he had been waiting for her to ask just that question. "We build a ship," he answered.

"We... we what?" Had he not just said that he did not believe he was fated to go the way Tolkien wrote, that he had put on hold all notions of sailing to the West?

"We build a ship, Flynn, you and I," Legolas continued. "It will not be Gimli and I who sail this great river and out to the sea, but you and I instead. There is so little here for us – Cilien on our backs, hunting us down as we speak, with malice on her bitter mind. We should leave here; we should begin a new adventure, Flynn!"

For a moment Flynn wanted dearly to be caught up in his enthusiasm. But swiftly the practical problems struck her. "Legolas, we cannot sail West!" she said. "I cannot go with you, I will not be permitted into Valinor! And what of your home, what of Ithilien? What of Gimli?"

"Why, Gimli will have a ship, too! Gimli and Brennewyn will build a ship once they know we are to sail, I know it. Has Brennewyn not said that she longs to build her a ship and sail back to her lover, and has Gimli not longed to behold the face of Galadriel again? Of course he will go to Valinor, and he will be accepted there by all those who already know him."

In its utter craziness, his idea almost made sense, almost seemed possible. "But why must we have two ships, Legolas? Can we not all sail together?"

Legolas drew a deep breath and Flynn cocked an eyebrow, worried something she would not like was coming. "Well," he began, and then halted, searching for words. "I had an idea, Flynn, that we would go... elsewhere."

"Elsewhere?" she asked slowly, suspicious of his uncharacteristically halting speech.

"Yes. I have a notion that we should... We should go to your home."

"My home? But I have no home here, besides this home that is yours," she replied quizzically, looking around at the fine contours of his house on the mountain.

"No," Legolas clarified, "to this place from whence you came. If you can get us back there, I should very much like to see your homeland. I have shown you what there is to see of my home and I have wandered this land far and wide for nigh on a thousand years. There is nothing left for me to see. But you – you can take us somewhere so new, so refreshing that I may even feel young again!"

Flynn's belly turned hot. Go home? To Australia? Had she not just put all of her energy, less than half a year ago, into getting out of that place and that century?

"I do not know, Legolas," she said. "It is really not a place you would like. There are far too few forests, and the cities are noisy, and food does not taste the same, and the air in the cities is never as sweet as here. And you would have to learn the language!"

Undeterred, he argued, "I never knew a city which was not noisy or did not have foul air, and as long as there are forests we will seek them out together, and if food does not taste the same, then all the better for it! And if I must learn your language, then that will be fair, for you have learned mine, and perhaps I would assuage my guilt at having never done the same for Gimli."

Despite her doubt Flynn smiled at his childlike optimism. "I do not know if I can even get us there," she said softly. "The poem I told you about; its words are gone now. It is just a scrap of vellum."

"But it was enchanted, sometime?" he asked hopefully.

"Well, yes, it must have been, but –"

"Then it is worth checking again! Let us look over it, see if there is anything that would hint at unlocking its secret."

There was doubt written all over Flynn's face, and she knew it, but Legolas squeezed her hand.

"Would you stay here, Flynn? Does it seem a better path in your eyes, with Cilien on our tails causing never-ending anguish, and the greatest king now passed into history, and the elves slowly leaving us to sail into the West? Including your friend, Brennewyn? What of us then? We should take this turn, Flynn, as a sign. It has been suggested to us by this strange story written by this Tolkien fellow, that we should leave here – and now is the time."

Flynn sighed. Why did her resolve weaken so under his words? "All right," she said, and received a wide smile. "I will look again at the poem, but please do not hope for anything. If it is nothing but old scrap parchment now, then I cannot take us to my home. We will need another plan. We will have to face Cilien, if you are right that she will bring the Lórien guard here."

"Of course," he agreed, but his eyes were wide and Flynn could see that all his hopes rested on taking this one last adventure.

Flynn smiled with effort, and lifted her goblet, sipping the thick wine. Legolas winked at her and then whistled through his fingers, and a kitchen hand brought them supper.

- - - - -

Legolas followed Flynn into the room in search of her old pack that night. He was impatient to know just whether or not his ambitious plan had any hope of fulfilment. They knelt on the floor as she dug deeply through its contents, her face growing tighter with every minute that she did not find what they sought.

Giving in, she upended the bag, spilling her personal effects over the floor. Legolas looked over her possessions with interest, wondering at the unfamiliar items which he now assumed were articles from her home, wherever or _whenever_ that was. It struck him as strange that he had never wondered before at some of the odd items she produced from time to time: a time-piece worn on the wrist; a disc with an arrow which moved to show north, south, east and west; a drinking flask made of the strangest, smoothest, lightest material he had ever seen; leaves of paper more finely pulped and a starker white than anything in Middle-earth; the list went on. But where was this mysterious scrap of vellum she claimed to have used to get here?

Flynn breathed excitedly through her nose as she reached over the mess on the floor and pulled towards her a small, strangely-crafted metal box with a complicated lock on the outside. She fished in a side-pocket of her pack and produced a sleek metal key whose fine working would have impressed every Dwarf in all Middle-earth. She glanced up at Legolas, anticipation wide in the dark facets of her eyes. In that moment Legolas saw in her face the strain of the last few weeks, the corners of her mouth turned down, her jaw tight, her eyes duller than before, and suddenly his heart was swollen with guilt. He had done this to her. He had left her alone, he had not believed her, and he had been so angry that he had wandered the forests alone at night rather than join her in their bed, keenly though he felt the absence of her touch.

Legolas reached up slowly and ran his hand down the side of her face, letting his palm slide softly over her skin, his heart leaping as she closed her eyes to his touch.. She tilted her face to the heel of his hand, breathing in the scent of his palm, and his hand lingered at her chin, her hair catching the soft candlelight in his room. He held her there, savouring the moment, knowing that when she opened that box their future would be written, either way.

Flynn drew a steeling breath and opened her eyes, and without a word, inserted the key in the lock and wrangled with it for a moment, the mechanisms stiff, then turned it with the promising scrape of metal on metal. Legolas dared not breathe. Flynn opened the lid, and inside Legolas beheld a browned, fragile-looking scrap of vellum, worn and slightly crumpled. Flynn withdrew it slowly and turned it over once, and over again. It was blank.

Flynn sighed, defeated.

But something tripped Legolas's memory and he tentatively reached out for the vellum. She let him take it, and he turned it over gingerly in his hands. This object gave off a strange energy, a vibration that objects so rarely held. He had very few times in his life run across objects that held this kind of strange charge, but he knew the feeling when it pressed at him. This paper, whatever it had been, was enchanted. He was aware of Flynn watching him intently, and he looked up from the object in his hands and said, "I think it is something."

Flynn raised one eyebrow at him. "Well, yes, Legolas," she said slowly, brows creasing together.

"No, I mean that this is no ordinary parchment. It is something else entirely. I feel an energy from it; a charge. It has been imbued with some sorcery to make it active. But what, I cannot say." He gazed back down at the thing and wondered where in his life he had felt something like this. There was nearly a millennia of memory for him to scan through, and he meditated on it a long moment, while Flynn watched him.

Then he remembered; he was so young back then, just a child under his father's guidance, but he would never forget the first time he had been in the presence of an enchanted object, its vibration searching through the atmosphere, seeking purchase, seeking an anchor so it could fulfil its destiny. Legolas felt Flynn's hand on his arm and opened his eyes to see her worried countenance.

"Are you quite alright?" she asked softly. "You have been silent a long while."

Legolas drew a long breath, finally feeling hopeful. "I believe I know what this is," he said, and then, partly to make his story easier to explain, and partly because some part of him still needed to test the things Flynn had told him, he asked, "What do you know about the Wizard, Radagast the Brown?"

Flynn cocked her head to the side, not losing his gaze, and without hesitation answered, "Tolkien did not write a lot of him, but I do know that he is one of the three Wizards who lived in the northwest of Middle-earth, and that he has dwelt at Rhosgobel on the borders of Mirkwood. Oh, and of course that Gandalf consulted with him when the One Ring was discovered all those years ago. In fact," she went on, screwing up one eye as though it peered back into her head, into her memory: "I am certain he was the one who told Gandalf that the Nine were seeking the Ring in the first place."

Legolas was impressed; she was absolutely correct – or at least, she knew exactly what he knew. He nodded and glanced down at the vellum scrap, recalling the old memory. "When he dwelt in Mirkwood he visited my father's halls now and then, for my father brooked the trade through much of the wood, and it was in Radagast's interest to know what goings-on the elves had planned. I was but a child the first time I saw him, and it was also the first time I ever felt the energy of something such as this. Its current stirred my core when my father introduced me to the old Wizard, and, child that I was, I was altogether curious. So, later in the evening when my father and the grown elves were entertaining the Wizard, I stole into his chambers and inspected the small amount of baggage he travelled with. In it I found... this."

He stared at the scrap a moment, sensing Flynn's energy stirring, sure that if he held his hand to her heart he would feel its beat increasing.

"You have seen this before?" she asked in an excited whisper.

"Perhaps. What I found was a full sheet of vellum, the whole thing blank, but setting my hand to it I felt as if burned by fire, and I knew it was this thing which I felt; I knew it was as good as alive."

Flynn touched his wrist then, saying, "But... it was blank then, so how do we know this is the same thing?"

"Ah," Legolas went on, plunging his mind centuries back, "I was more careless then than I am now, and in any case the Wizard was more silent even than an Elf, and he happened upon me intruding upon his personal effects."

Flynn gasped softly, and Legolas shook his head. "Strangely, I was not punished. The old Wizard had such mischief in his eye when he saw me there, caught plainly doing the wrong thing, and he sat me down and said that one so young as I was should not have been able to feel its charge, and so he was impressed, I do think." Legolas could see as if it were yesterday the twinkle in the old fellow's brown eyes. "He explained to me this enchanted thing he carried, for he said that I would understand it better than any of my young friends, and would not feel a greedy need to possess it as the adults would have."

Legolas paused to collect his thoughts, trying to explain this thing, and Flynn asked, "What did he say it was?"

"He said it was like a key to another place. The Wisest of all had been using such keys for ages past to travel to distant times or places and gather knowledge, and to prolong life if they were not immortal, as Radagast was. It was not a thing to carry lightly, he said, and he would not let me touch it again, though he did show me how it worked."

Flynn's eyes widened. "He did?"

"Yes. You simply spoke some words aloud; it was but the first line of a poem, I recall. Then text appeared on the page as if by magic... But what were the words?" he asked himself quietly.

Legolas plundered the depths of his memory, searching for those words of long ago, which he had forgotten decades after his meeting with Radagast the Brown, when childhood fantasies of enchanted times and places had given way to a preoccupation with hunting and fighting and dancing under the trees of Mirkwood with fair Elf maidens.

He was snapped from his recollections when Flynn's voice, soft and low, stood alone in the night. She slowly said, _"Annon o Arda, edro hi ammen."_

Legolas's eyes snapped to hers. Her words were brilliant sunshine piercing through breaking clouds, cutting through the mist of his memory. Those were the words. Ancient words in an almost forgotten tongue, potent and rich: 'Gate of Arda, open now for me.'

Flynn glanced nervously down at the paper. Legolas was suddenly aware of the hard stare he directed at her.

Flynn explained, "That is what was written, before the words disapp – oh, look!"

Legolas's eyes went to the vellum in his hand, and his belly turned hot somersaults. The words – those words from long ago – were appearing on the page, slowly emerging like soldiers in the morning fog, becoming clearer and clearer with every passing moment. The two lovers sat, speechless, as the words finally revealed themselves in fresh black ink upon the page. The whole poem, now so familiar to Legolas as if branded on his mind, lay before them, and suddenly he felt the strong urge to read the lines, the energy of this thing pulling at him like the slow call of the sea to his heart.

His voice was a whisper when the second line came tumbling out: _"Fennas o ardhon." _There was a rushing in his ears and a heavy, tired sensation, and he thought for a second he could hear fair voices singing, calling him home, and he wanted only to go to them and join with them.

His skin sparked at the touch of Flynn's hand as she snatched the poem from him. "You must not read it aloud!" she cautioned, dropping it back into the metal box and locking it quickly. "You will be pulled... there. Or somewhere; I do not know what it does now. We must be careful!"

Hot fear burned in her eyes and Legolas felt his chest heave with a weighty breath as his senses returned to the present. What a strange, strange feeling that was. He was certain now of this thing, of its validity, of its purpose. It would do just as Radagast had explained, just as Flynn had described. He smiled at Flynn, his eyes twinkling, and she eyed him with caution. "Do you see, Flynn?" he asked excitedly. "When we are ready, we can use this!"

Flynn nodded. "But not now."

Legolas was silent a moment, and it occurred to him: why not now? With Cilien on their heels and his heart torn between his lover in Middle-earth and the call of his soul to be elsewhere, anywhere but here, why not just leave now, and fulfil both desires?

Flynn cocked her head to the side and he saw recognition in her face.

"Oh, no," she said. "I see what you are thinking Legolas. We cannot leave now. We have so many things we must do!"

"But what?" he challenged, taking her hands in his. "What keeps us here, love?"

"Have you forgotten those who need us? I promised that I would see to it that Brennewyn had her ship and that she sailed and finally could be with Noridan again! And there is the small matter of your dear old friend, Gimli. No, we cannot go now, Legolas. We will build our ships: a ship for Brennewyn and Gimli who long for the West, and a ship for you and I so that we can leave quickly and without suspicion when we are ready. And we will sail from here, and then when we are out of the reach of this earth, we can use this poem."

Flynn was, of course, right. Legolas was momentarily disappointed in himself that he had been so quick to these rash thoughts, that he had not even considered Gimli. He eyed the box, thinking about the enchanted object within. Its pull had been so strong, it seemed, that he had forgotten himself entirely. Like all enchanted objects he had ever come across, he did not trust it one iota. No, it was a thing best left until they were absolutely ready to use it. The Elf ran his thumbs over Flynn's palms, his skin trilling with joy at the softness of her skin under his fingers. He looked into the sultry shadows of russet and green that were her eyes, and he smiled.

"We have a plan, love," he said.

Flynn smiled back, and he thought her teeth were like shining jewels in the candlelight, and her eyes were like fires under the sharp definition of her brows. "Yes, we do," she agreed in a passionate whisper, and Legolas could not keep himself from her then. He pounced on her, unfolding her out on the floor, and he kissed her with all the excitement of the anticipation of things to come, and he bared her skin to the night, feeling his very fibres come loose as she hoarsely whispered his name, and he felt her all around him, and loved her through the dark hours until dawn.

- - - - -

With a tight knot in her stomach and her teeth hard against her bottom lip, Flynn waved farewell to her prince lover, her pretty elven friend and the charismatic Dwarf. They made a motley crew, two tall, flaxen-headed elves, a stumpy Dwarf and several cartloads of wood and building materials, flanked by a guard of Ithilien soldiers on horseback and whoever they could find in the Ithilien colony with any ship-building or carpentry skills whatsoever. Flynn pressed her fingers to her mouth in a kiss and held it out, willing the kiss to find its way to her lover's lips, and from her vantage point high in the hills she saw his head shine in the sun as he turned, his lithe arm stretching out into the air, catching a phantom kiss and pressing it close to his heart.

Flynn sighed. She did not know how long it would take them to build their ships, but she hoped it would be quick. None had any doubt that Cilien would be upon Ithilien within weeks. It had taken Flynn, Legolas and Brennewyn two weeks to get here, riding fast and without burdens. Legolas, with much better knowledge of the movement of large groups on horseback and heavily burdened soldiers had estimated three weeks before he would need to return and steal Flynn away. They would go back to the river from where they would leave as quickly as possible. But he had left her in Ithilien, he said, because someone with official rights to the leadership of Ithilien needed to remain and keep up the pretence of normalcy while he was gone. He and Brennewyn and the elves were the best for the building task, he said, because they were stronger than any Dwarf or Man, and needed not sleep for the entire fortnight he estimated the building would take.

When Flynn had protested that Gimli would be much better at the task of Ithilien's rule, having taken it on before this, Gimli himself had insisted that he did, in fact, need to help with the ship building, for he was stout and strong and excellent with an axe and, as he put it, "Not needing of sleep nor food when there is building to be done, or my father, may his soul rest forever, should call me not his son, and I shall tear off my very beard and call myself not a Dwarf, for I have failed to lend the sturdiness of our people where it is needed."

Legolas had relented, but not before fixing Gimli with a long, hard look. Flynn admired the Dwarf's stubbornness. And she had to admit he would probably be an excellent help in the work.

But she was daunted by the prospect of standing as Ithilien's only figurehead, even if for only a few weeks. She watched the leaving party as they rounded the western hills and disappeared. Flynn recalled Brennewyn's fair face lighting from within as she told her that arrangements were being made for them to build ships, and do it now, for there was no time to waste when there were mortals involved. Flynn was sure that Brennewyn suspected something else motivated their haste, especially considering Legolas demanded they be ready to leave the very next day, but she had only hugged Flynn, laughed and clapped her hands. Then her face had gone still, memory reaching into the distance. "Noridan," she had murmured to herself, a smile of disbelief creeping over her face. Both elated and hesitant, Flynn knew that though Brennewyn would be rejoined with the love of her life, it would surely mean Flynn would not see her again.

But for now Flynn was alone, free to wander Ithilien. She explored its contours, its hills and dales, its peculiar mixture of elven and human design. She was relieved to find within a few days that she did not much have to _do_ anything as Ithilien's caretaker. She was courteous to the Ithilien guard, and curious about its peoples, and she nosed around here and there asking people questions as they went about their daily business – but her job was really not any kind of work at all. She had long hours to spend alone, and every night as the sun went down, its glory shattering the surface of the river to the west, she stared for hours out at the water. She imagined she could see her lover building the ships there, the late light glinting on his skin. But she saw only the thin white streak of the shining river and the flat plains between she and the mighty Anduin, and she hoped their return would be quick.

But the morning only ten days after Legolas had left, a soldier brought Flynn a letter, and glancing upon it her heart lurched into her throat. Opening it she found the hurried scrawl of a Gondorian scout, delivered from his sweaty hands to the Northern Guard of Ithilien and added to there, borne hastily back to Legolas's colony and into Flynn's hand.

A host of soldiers from Lórien had been sighted bearing down through North Ithilien but a day ago, the message read, and had insisted their presence had been invited by Legolas – though they could give no proof. The Northern Guard had let them pass, allies that they normally were, but Silinde had added to the message that their insistence and coldness had caused him to be wary, and as such he has speeded this message back to Ithilien's Lord in advance of the host's arrival.

Flynn hardly dared breathe as she read the letter, seeing within those words sharp images of the very threats she feared. Cilien was coming.


	25. Fugitives

**25 – FUGITIVES**

Drifts of late summer leaves gusted over Legolas's balcony under a stormy afternoon sky. Flynn paced back and forth, anxious. In her hand she gripped the message so tightly that her nails dug into her palm. Cilien had seemed just a wisp of a threat far away under cover of Lórien until now. But here was reality inescapable, amassing on the horizon. From the west-facing side of Legolas's house Flynn could see the dark shape on the plains following the river, and she knew without doubt that this was the host from Lórien. In her imagination she saw the sharp features of Cilien at its front, barking her orders with vitriol and malice

Flynn halted and watched the dark shape on the plane, and suddenly panic overtook her. She had to get out. She could not stand here and wait for soldiers from Lórien to overcome Ithilien; she could not wait around for them to take her away, hoping that Legolas would return and save her before too late. If she were to escape this fate, she would have to do it herself, the way she had always done. She was no stranger to fleeing.

As she rushed to the bedchamber the first raindrops began to fall, and Flynn skidded on the wet stone, tumbling into the room she had shared with Legolas. Shaking herself, she ran about the room gathering up her possessions. On this journey, her requirements would be very much different than before. If she were returning home, she would not need her compass, or her map of Middle-earth, or her hunting knife or climbing ropes. The 21st-centruy native would not need her fine elven gowns, either. She ran the fabric of one of her dresses through her fingers. No, she would keep these.

She stuffed her belongings into her now bulging pack, heavy stitching revealing itself along the strained seams. Flynn glanced around the room. What would Legolas want? He carried with him so few possessions, and here in his private chambers there were hardly any trinkets or personal effects besides the furnishings. The Elf had his weapons – his pride and joy – with him at the river, as well as his more robust clothing. Flynn hurried to the dresser and from a drawer took a fine silver circlet, one which had adorned is head at many a special occasion. Hunting through the room she found clothes and adornments belonging to him. She took them, momentarily feeling sentimental, momentarily feeling as though she would need proof that this had not all been some crazy dream. She shivered.

Changing into better travelling clothes, Flynn pushed her hair back off her face and glanced around, casting her eyes one last time over the beautiful home Legolas had wrought in this beautiful place, and felt tears stinging behind her eyes. She drew a fortifying breath. This was it; there was nothing more to take and nothing more that she could do in the time she had left. There was only to flee.

The smell of horses and placid face of Isilyn had never been so much of a relief as when she found the mare still stabled with the Ithilien steeds. Flynn had no idea how to saddle a horse properly, though, and resigned to the fact that she would have to go bareback the way she had done many times in her time with the elves. She still could not go comfortably with speed, but there was no option. Climbing quickly on to Isilyn, her pack hung from her front and her longbow and quiver sat at her back. She was not confident to use them, but she could not bring herself to leave such a gift behind.

The Ithilien guard knew nothing of her plans to leave but she took no time to inform them, kicking Isilyn to ride as hard as they could manage, heavily bumping down the streets of the town, eliciting strange looks but resolving not to stop to answer any questions. Down through the poplar lane she rode, wind whipping her hair about her face, rain smattering the earth and glancing off her eyes so she could hardly see. The clouds hung heavy and sultry grey, and the air whispered with electric charge, but Flynn rode on, her focus bent on reaching the river. Maybe she could elude the Lórien guard. Maybe she could buy just one more day.

It was night before the rain abated and Flynn, fearful of Isilyn's health, gave in to the need to rest. She did not risk a fire, for her sight out on the lowlands was useless, the plains offering no such vantage point as Legolas's home high in the hills. No longer aware how far away the Lórien guards were, or which path they took to Ithilien, she wondered if she were riding straight into their course. All she knew was that if she followed her compass due west she would reach the river, and if she was lucky, safety. She just hoped that the Lórien host would choose a course more southeasterly than she did. There was a very real possibility that they would come within just a few miles of each other. Shuddering at the thought, Flynn fed Isilyn and tried to sleep, though rest never really came.

- - - -

Flynn was up with the first light, riding hard west before the sun had even fully loosed itself from the pull of the horizon. But the day was dim, clouds still heavy and dense, promising more of the same dismal sky. The morning crackled with electricity and Isilyn was jumpy, but Flynn's strength of purpose gave them momentum. She pushed the horse on, though her bruised seat bone exploded with pain for every step Isilyn took.

Some hours after setting off, Flynn halted Isilyn and froze. Through a dull haze of misty rain there was a figure in the distance, dark against the grey rain. It was coming on horseback from the west, barely concealed on the bare plains. Flynn's heart leapt with terror. She wiped the water from her eyes. Surely she had not crossed paths with the Lórien host – oh, gods, no. She pressed Isilyn to keep moving. This time she turned southwards, hoping to give this rider a wide berth. But she knew her chance of not being seen was laughable.

As she veered to her left and sped across the wild grass the rider veered. It headed straight for her. There was nothing for it; she would just have to bolt. Flynn kicked Isilyn harder though her body screamed in protest. White tendrils of foam flew from the horse's mouth, breathing hard and noisy. Flynn stole a glance to her right, hoping against hope she was taking the lead, but it was no use. The rider was gaining steadily on her, and would catch her, and she would be forced to fight.

But then the strangest thing happened. The rain suddenly ceased, the clouds dissipating in the high wind, and her vision of the rider grew clearer. Flynn could make out the strangely familiar markings and gait of the horse and the fair head of the rider. Breath catching in her throat, she slowed Isilyn, and she bit down on the side of her hand, willing herself not to cry. It was Legolas. It was Legolas galloping towards her, riding as though a Balrog itself nipped at his heels.

Flynn could not restrain a yelp of relief, and she pressed Isilyn to move again, this time steering her northwards, towards the rider. For a few agonising moments she could only hold Legolas in her sights, willing him to draw nearer, faster, and then he was close, and slowing, and she was sliding from the horse's back, her body aching, and he was holding her tight in his arms and stroking her head as she breathed deeply of the scent of him, relief flooding her.

But it was short lived. Legolas drew away from the embrace and held her gaze, steady and sombre, and said, "They are here."

All relief drained from Flynn. "What do you mean?"

Legolas whipped his head around, gazing north for a moment, then turned back to her. "There is a host of Lórien soldiers in the distance. They come this way."

"How did you – who told – oh, Legolas, this is all wrong! I rode hard since yesterday to get to you, to warn you, so that we might have had a chance to get away from them. But you have seen them?" Flynn slumped back against Isilyn's side, no strength left in her legs.

Legolas nodded, distress tightening his fair face. "They have followed the river to get here and are but a few leagues off –"

"Leagues?" Flynn exclaimed with despair. "Not miles? Oh, we have no chance!"

Legolas took her by the hands, his touch momentarily calming. "We must away; we cannot linger," he said. "In but a few hours they would be able to see us here, for this ground is far too flat to hide."

Flynn squeezed her eyes shut tight, blocking out reality, and let out a low groan. "I will never escape her, will I, Legolas?" she said without opening her eyes. She pressed a palm to her forehead, defeated.

"Flynn, we must leave now," Legolas compelled her. "If we ride hard, we will reach the river by sunset, and we have only to take the boats and sail."

At this Flynn opened her eyes. "They are ready?"

Legolas nodded, and Flynn saw a flash of hope in his eyes. She swallowed, and nodded in agreement, and, acting on a sudden urge, stood on her tiptoes and kissed him fiercely, clutching his head between her hands. His arms slid around her and he held her with all the urgency crackling in the charged air. Flynn pulled away when she no longer had breath to draw, and the lovers parted with a lingering look, Flynn wishing she could dive into his eyes and stay there, swimming in the clear pools where everything was safe and beauty never faded.

Legolas took the lead, forging due west, and Flynn felt almost hopeful, almost positive, almost as if everything would be all right.

- - - - -

In a few hours, when the deep, dark blue of the Anduin shined in the visible distance and Flynn imagined she could see the Ithilien party and their ships, it became clear that everything would not, in fact, be all right. Flynn heard Legolas's cry of distress from ahead of her, and she followed his line of sight, looking north, and what she saw struck fear into her very core. The Lórien host was here. There, along the river some distance north of the ships, was the dark, fleet-footed mass of a host of riders pressing hard towards the harbour, the same safe harbour that Flynn now knew she would never reach.

Glancing ahead she could see that she and Legolas were roughly as far from the harbour as the Lórien guard were, but approaching from the east. Flynn's advantage was that she had only to cross straight, flat ground, and the host were, for some reason, following the meander of the river. Legolas kicked Rhaia, and the mare shot off. Flynn gritted her teeth against the searing pain in her seat and did the same, spurring Isilyn harder though she could feel the horse's strength wavering. She did not know how much longer either of them would hold up. All they had to do was outrun the Lórien elves. That was all.

But they closed in on the harbour just as quickly as their pursuers did, and by the time Flynn could see the silver sails and shining wood of the ships close at hand, the guards from Lórien were already within sight, and her heart fell as she picked out, at the front of the mass of elves, the white head of Cilien. Flynn set her sights on the ships and rode harder than she had ever ridden before, and she and Legolas closed in on the last few hundred metres to the harbour, and she thought she could see the incongruous forms of Brennewyn and Gimli, and for a brief moment her heart was cheered.

But glancing north again her heart quailed. She saw as if in some horrible nightmare the entire mass of the Lórien guard switching, changing direction, obviously sighting Flynn and Legolas riding in from the east. Suddenly the elves were bearing down on them. They were so close Flynn could almost pick out individual faces; faces she recognised from Lórien, faces she had thought would know her better than to believe Cilien, faces she had danced with, laughed with, eaten with, greeted as she strolled through the woods. Elves she had held the highest respect for were now all high atop their horses, arrows at their backs, stern reprimand on their faces.

Legolas's voice cut into her haze as he shouted, "Hurry! They are gaining on us!"

Flynn kicked Isilyn again, and smiled with stupid glee as Brennewyn's fair visage at the edge of the river drew into focus. There was relief in the sight of the Elf's golden halo of hair, despite the mask of panic on Brennewyn's face and the alertness in her body, ushering Legolas and Flynn to the edge of the river, kicking sailor's knots loose, readying a small boat fit for two.

Flynn watched from her bumpy seat as Legolas reached the harbour well ahead of her. Giddy with adrenaline, she was not aware of Isilyn's gradual slowing, and she was not aware of the lone soldier gaining steadily on her. She was not aware of the heavy, loud sputters and wheezes issuing forth from her horse. All she saw was Legolas hurriedly rushing to Gimli, preparing the other boat to sail, glancing back at her, not aware she was no longer close behind him, and Brennewyn... shrieking?

Suddenly Flynn zoned back in to reality, the terror in Brennewyn's voice slicing through the air. Flynn stole a glance behind her, and then she saw. There on her heels was a Lórien soldier, so close that his horse's breath fanned out condensation Flynn could clearly see. In fear-wrought denial, she glanced back to the front and saw Legolas, his fair face streaked by panic, drawing an arrow with frightening swiftness and nocking it to his bow. It was going to be all right. Legolas would shoot the soldier. Flynn would reach the boats; she drew now so close she could almost taste the river water. The swift-flowing Anduin would carry them away. It would be all right.

But two things happened at once which stopped Flynn from reaching the boats. The first was that, as she kicked Isilyn, one last time urging her to go this last quarter of a league, the mare suddenly and inexplicably gave in. She had never been ready for this prolonged stretch of hard riding, and pushed to the edge of a marathon runner's capabilities, she was beaten, defeated by exhaustion, and suddenly, resigning to failure, she fell. The horse went down in a horrible tumble of legs and muscle, and Flynn was thrown from her, hitting the ground on her back and losing all the air in her lungs.

The second was that Legolas shot an arrow just as Isilyn fell, and had the mare not given in so close to the end of her trial, Legolas would have hit his mark: the soldier biting at Flynn's heels, close enough almost to grab her. But when Isilyn fell and Legolas took his shot, the soldier on the horse behind Flynn swerved to avoid the arrow, in doing so tripping over Isilyn. The soldier went down with her, and Legolas's arrow caught empty air. Flynn and the soldier were down. The light seemed to go out around her when Flynn hit the ground. There was no boat for her now, no safe passage down the river, no escape.

She was slapped back into consciousness again by the threatening hands of an unfamiliar Elf as he grabbed her by the straps on her pack, pulling her roughly to her feet. Spots swam in front of her eyes and she was aware of a dull, throbbing pain at the back of her head. She swayed and sucked in horrible shrieking breaths, refilling her empty lungs. The Lórien Elf dragged her upright, and she saw his pale face emerging from under a curtain of dark hair, and its realness there in front of her suddenly filled her with anger. Flynn convulsed away from him, desperate to be free from his grip, knowing if she could just get away then she could surely sprint the last short stretch to the harbour.

But the Elf was strong, as well he should have been. Flynn had no chance pulling from his grip. Glancing to her left she could see the rest of the Lórien guard catching up, and there at their front, high atop a white horse, was Cilien wearing a horrid and sickening smile. Anger coiling her tight like a spring, Flynn snapped away from the Elf again, and this time felt herself jolt as she came a thread free. A thin arrow lodged suddenly in the wood of the quiver at his back, the force throwing him back. His grip slackened for a moment and Flynn did not waste this opportunity, and with all her might she pushed against him, seeing the blonde flurry of Legolas as he ran to her and set upon the soldier, his fists rocketing the Lórien Elf down to the ground.

Flynn did not wait for Legolas to finish the soldier, and tearing herself away she was vaguely aware of the sound of flying punches. She sprinted for the dock, legs pumping, heart burning. There was the wood of the ships, the dock. There were the Ithilien elves who had given their time to help them build the boats. All her muscles pounding she skidded along the pier at the riverbank and took Brennewyn's outstretched hand, allowing the Elf to yank her within her ship, Flynn tumbling ungracefully to the bottom of the boat. Hardly allowing herself to draw breath again she stood up, steadying herself against the side of the ship. Biting down hard on her bottom lip, she watched Legolas sprint back to the dock, his legs carrying him faster than any creature Flynn had ever seen, with a mass of soldiers at his back whose arrow tips glinted in the few shafts of sun piercing the clouds.

She was barely aware of Brennewyn at her side, pushing the boat out from the bank and into the river's swell. Watching Legolas approach she did not see the silver-white form of the boat next to her and the tense, panting Dwarf within it. She did not breathe as Legolas sprinted the last few flying steps along the dock. He took a running start and leaped for all his Elf legs were worth, and in a second landed within the boat. Gimli pushed away from the dock as he wrangled with ropes, attempting to control the sails. The boats sunk low in the water and Flynn could hear the gurgle of the river all around, dragging the two small crafts out into the middle of the flow. She watched as a thundering group of Lórien guards came to an abrupt and precarious halt on the edge of the docks, horses breathing hard, anger and frustration on the soldiers' faces. Flynn turned and saw Brennewyn then, her white face awash with relief and her breaths heavy as she threaded ropes through her hands and glanced hopefully up at the little sails. In the other boat Legolas stood, his hands at its edge, his eyes trained on her. They were free.

The dull throbbing ache in the back of Flynn's head started up again then, and suddenly she was overcome with nausea, the gently rocking boat and blinding head pain stirring up unease in her stomach. She threw her head over the side of the boat and heaved. Hot pain shot up in front of her eyes like red fireworks and she barely managed to scrape the bow and arrow from her back with weary hands before she fell back against the bottom of the boat. A mist of sleep rolled over her and strange, giddy thoughts skittered across her mind. How funny it was, she thought, that she was here in the boat with Brennewyn, and that Legolas, somewhere ahead of them, sailed on down the Anduin with Gimli, just as Tolkien had said. And how amusing were the prophetic words of Galadriel when she had first met Legolas, some 120 years ago in Lothlórien:

_Legolas Greenleaf, long under tree_

_In joy thou hast lived. Beware of the Sea!_

_If thou hearest the cry of the gull on the shore_

_Thy heart shall rest in the forest no more._

As she blacked into unconsciousness, those words came back to Flynn, playing across her mind like a familiar old record, and for a while she was aware of nothing more.


	26. Namárië

**26 – NAMARIE**

A fair voice rang in the dimness that was Flynn's consciousness. "Stay awake!" it begged her. "Please, Flynn, you must not sleep!"

She roused a little, wondering why someone would dare to drag her from the soft warmth of sleep when she was so clearly happy there, and began slowly to hear disconcerting groaning noises coming from far off; someone was in distress, someone was in pain, someone... was that _her_? Light intruded upon her eyelids and far-off gull cries sounded somewhere in the nebulous cloud of her consciousness. The sound vibrations in her body and her head told her that yes, those groaning noises were coming from her, and yes, this was reality washing back in.

Flynn opened her eyes slowly and thought she had never seen such a lovely sight as the concerned face of Brennewyn, ringed by the halo of white-grey sky above. "Yes, Flynn, yes," Brennewyn was saying eagerly. "Stay with me, stay awake. Come now, stay awake – look at the sky, see, the sun shows herself finally! Good, Flynn, stay awake."

Brennewyn's voice was soothing but the Elf could not conceal the worry biting at its edge, and Flynn grew worried, too, though she was not sure why. She rolled her eyes around as far as they could go, fearing the ache in her head would explode if she dared move. She was able to pick out the washed wooden interior of the boat, and suddenly she remembered where she was and why. They had escaped the Lórien guard. They had left Ithilien behind. But how long had she been out cold?

"Brennewyn?" she murmured, and the Elf smiled and touched Flynn's hairline softly.

"Yes?"

"Where are we?"

Brennewyn looked around her. "We are but a few miles from Ithilien. You have not slept long, but the river is swift. We should be at the river mouth in a few hours, and then –" she paused, staring wistfully out to the horizon, her long tresses whipping back from her hair like a flag in the wind, "then over sea."

The whimsy in her voice caused Flynn to wonder suddenly just how much of the plan Legolas had filled Brennewyn in on. Did she even know that Legolas and Flynn would not be going with them? She tried to sit up and managed to grunt out, "Brennewyn, there is something you should know, if you do not already –"

"Shh," the Elf silenced her. "Do not try to speak until the pain is less – and certainly do not try to move."

Flynn lay back, her body accepting defeat even if her mind did not.

- - - - -

Miles meant nothing on the Great River, its waters flowing sharply down from the mountains far in the north, knowing only that they must press on until there were finally the sea's welcoming arms to flow into. And miles meant nothing to Flynn, who could only see sky above, and Brennewyn shifting in and out of her vision, and the odd water bird that indicated that they grew ever close to the river mouth and the point where Legolas and Flynn would, for the last time, say farewell to their dear friends.

It was afternoon when Flynn felt the heavy jolt of the boats pulling unskilfully into shore. She sat up gingerly as Brennewyn hopped out, wading through the shallows with her skirts tied up, tethering the boat to a near tree. The headache that signalled a mild concussion had subsided, and slowly she righted herself, finding her bag still hanging from her front and yellow grass all over her clothes. She smiled slowly to herself as she spied Legolas hopping easily from the boat amid Gimli's grumbles about the water depth and awkward tilt of the boat.

Carefully she stood and, shaking terribly with the weakness in her muscles, she leaned to the edge of the boat and peered over. The water was shallow and she threw one leg over the side ungracefully, and teetered on the rim of the boat before Brennewyn came splashing through the water to her and offered her hand. The four escapees came together on the riverbank and sat as Legolas began a fire, and nobody said much as the sun withdrew her rays slowly in the west, seeming to signal the end of this strange fortune with the end of the day, and the promise of a new hope with the new dawn.

Gimli produced a pipe and puffed on it intermittently as the fire sparked to life, and after some thought, while Flynn nursed her head in one hand and tugged at blades of grass with the other, and Brennewyn sat back with a serene smile upon her face, he remarked, "That is some fate you escaped there, lass."

Flynn looked over at him and sighed. "I am thankful to have survived it with only a sore head, that is certain," she said.

The Dwarf chuckled and nodded. "Indeed. This Cilien that Legolas has spoken of – why, she is no lady of Lórien, and I count myself a good judge of that."

"True words you speak," Legolas added from by the fire – the first words he had spoken in hours. "She is from Mirkwood, after all."

Gimli snorted. "That it not what I speak of, lad, as well you know. I never saw a lady Elf's fair face so twisted with rage."

Flynn swallowed; she had never seen such a thing before, either.

"The true ladies of Lórien are much fairer of face and manner than she," Brennewyn said, flipping her hair over her shoulder and winking at Gimli, who laughed deeply from his belly.

"Ahh," he said, dragging from his pipe, "The Lady of Light so fair in Valinor – now _she_ is the pride of Lórien and all of Middle-earth." He sighed wistfully. "How I do wish to see her again."

"You shall," Legolas said, still breaking sticks for the fire.

"Aye – that is the hope," Gimli murmured. "Though such a hope is a lofty thing," he admitted.

Brennewyn laughed, a sound that put Flynn in mind of the musical burbling of a cool stream, and she said, "Oh, Gimli Elf-friend, you have not been named so for nothing. There is no force in this world that would keep you from our havens in the West."

At this Gimli gazed at Brennewyn and Flynn was sure she saw his eyes misting up, though he blinked and glanced away. Legolas produced dried victuals and offered them around, and the four travellers ate though they were hardly full. Gimli insisted on saving his rations for the sea journey, for he was sure it would be long, though he and Brennewyn even now discussed the finer points of their preparation, checking off provisions with one another.

But just as the sky was deepening to grey-washed orange, Legolas's poise tautened, his alert stance more wary, and he huffed softly to himself as if in indecision. Flynn looked up at him, wiping her hands on her clothes, and asked, "What is it, Legolas?"

His jaw was tense, his lips a thin line. "I am afraid we cannot linger here," he answered, glancing upriver, back in the direction they had sailed down. "My mind tells me Cilien would not bother to follow us this far, but my heart tells me otherwise. We should leave."

Flynn frowned, not quite believing that they were still not safe. "You truly think she could find us down here?"

Legolas nodded, still gazing at the north horizon. "Perhaps not within a few hours, but if we lingered the night we would surely be foolish."

Flynn looked around at her companions then. So this was it – this was the end of her time with them, the end of her time in Middle-earth. She bit her bottom lip, casting her eyes over the careworn and characterful face of Gimli and the immaculate visage of Brennewyn, whose beauty in her kindness rivalled that of any other Elf that Flynn had ever seen. She looked up at Legolas and found his eyes on her, and he said, "It is time. We must take our ships."

Flynn nodded. The company stood as Legolas kicked the fire out and Gimli and Brennewyn waded down to the prow of Brennewyn's ship, its lean line nudged into the gravel of the river shore, and Flynn realised then that this ship was Brennewyn and Gimli's ship, which they had built together, and the other boat... the other boat would take Flynn and Legolas somewhere different entirely.

Legolas stood behind her on the grassy bank and stared out at the two boats, and his hands rested on her hips, and lightly he brushed his lips against the back of her neck. In her ear he whispered, "A new adventure awaits us, love."

Flynn turned to him and nuzzled into his arms as he drew himself around her. She took a deep breath and pulled away, turning back to the river where their friends waited. She took his hand as they followed the others down to the water, and waded in and stood before them. Brennewyn spoke first.

"Do not be sad for farewells, for we go to happier times," she said. "That is what my Lady said to me when she sailed West, and it now is clear to me. We begin our own new tales now, even better than before."

Flynn smiled though tears threatened at her eyes. She looked from Brennewyn to Gimli and back again, and could not form words. She heard Legolas from beside her say to Gimli, "Farewell, my old friend. Many years we have travelled this world, and I am so the better for our kinship. It joys me much to see you go to the place where dwells that fair one who stole your heart – for I have seen how it has pulled at you all these years passed."

"Aye, lad," Gimli said with a slight crack in his voice. "I only but wish to gaze upon her again, and I shall be the happiest Dwarf who ever did live."

Legolas laughed and bent down, his tall form folding as he pulled Gimli into an embrace. "Tell all of Valinor that I have gone to a place dearer to my heart," he murmured to the Dwarf, and Gimli nodded, gripped Legolas firmly by the shoulders, and looked him in the eyes.

"Take care of the lady," he ordered the Elf, and Legolas smiled and looked at Flynn, whose eyes were filling even now. "Farewell, pretty lady," he said to Flynn with a smile. She bent and kissed him on the cheek and watched him blush deep pink.

"Farewell, dear Gimli," she said. "I only wish I had had more time with this great friend of Legolas, alas..."

Gimli only nodded. Flynn turned to Brennewyn, and could not breathe evenly enough to stop the first sob escaping. Brennewyn smiled and drew Flynn into an embrace and into her ear whispered, "There is no greater pursuit than love, Flynn, and so we are noble, and can only be proud."

Flynn drew a shuddering breath, still holding her friend close. "I will dream you are reunited with your lover, and see your face as you set eyes upon him again, and I will be happy."

Brennewyn drew away slowly, the sun almost gone, and Brennewyn and Gimli looked to one another and a silent exchange seemed to pass between them, for the Elf helped the Dwarf into their boat, and they prepared the sails as Legolas and Flynn stepped back. Flynn could not stop the tears from streaming down her cheeks as they peeled out into the deep and were carried swiftly down the river.

Legolas turned to her when the boat was out of sight, a peculiar twinkle in his eye, and he winked at her and pulled her by the hand to their own little ship. They climbed within it and headed out from the shore, letting the sails slow them a little, and drifted downriver. With a look from Legolas, Flynn knew it was time. She opened the locked box. Taking Legolas's hands with one hand, she held the poem with the other. Legolas locked eyes with her and with excitement on his face he whispered, "Now it is your turn, love, to show me the way. Your way."

Flynn drew a deep breath and they both looked down at the vellum in her hand. She incanted the first line of the poem, and the rest of the words appeared. They bloomed on to the page, slow and mysterious as they always did. The last orange slice of sun disappeared and the sky was left a mass of pale orange cloud. Together the lovers read the words, and then like a ship embarking into thick fog, all trace of them disappeared.

- - - - -

Eleven thousand years later, a woman was waking in her small, poorly-lit kitchen in the inner city Brisbane suburb of Ashgrove. She groaned, her body an awkward tumble on the cold, hard floor, her shoulder a shock of red pain where she had struck the kitchen table as she fell into unconsciousness.

Standing by the door, a tall and handsome man was waiting, his breath hitched in his throat, his hands unclenching and clenching nervously, his mouth unable to form any words. He had not felt so fragile with anticipation in his long life, but he had never been mortal before, either, and so began a whole new set of considerations for him. Silently he said a prayer of thanks to the Valar. He was no longer the Immortal he had been for nearly a thousand years; he could feel that sense of lacking keenly. But the voices whispering like leaves in the wind, spiralling from the poem, had told him it would be so. An Immortal could not enter this way and remain unchanged. This world was not for the elves; their time had ended long ago, and he would die a Mortal's death if he stayed. But he was joyful. He had time here. He had her; his heart, his life, his world. And when she was gone? Well, there was always the poem, and an empty ship somewhere out on the sea, waiting for him.

The woman groaned faintly as she roused, and the sound flooded him with the crackling charge of anticipation and brimming possibilities just poised on the edge of fulfilment. Words flew to his mouth though he dared not even breathe, and this rush of incertitude – the unknowable secrets of the future – amused him, a shaking ground the likes of which he had never known before. Here he was, frozen in her kitchen doorframe, every feeling from the first time ever he had seen her flooding back as her eyelids fluttered and she woke to warm morning. He felt like a child again. He felt a new day dawning.

Consciousness came slowly to the woman, her heart weighed by the terrible uncertainty of leaving a utopian dream to which one knows one will never return. And though she wanted to keep her eyes shut and will herself back to a dream that faded away like the mist over the forest, seen from her lover's talan view in the ancient realm of Lothlórien, there was only one direction in which her ebbing consciousness could go. She groaned faintly with anxiety. She rolled over. How would she go on if this had all been a dream? How could she ever be happy with the life she had?

But then she opened her eyes and she saw the warm smile of the figure standing by the door. It was then that she knew peace. It was then that she knew that they had begun. They would live their lives together; face the world. They would love like no-one on earth had loved. They would forge their own story; a story their grandchildren would tell, perhaps in Sindarin, perhaps with smiles as perfect as his. She would love him long after she ceased to exist, she thought, as he carefully approached her, and with a glow in his eyes, offered her his hand.

THE END.


End file.
